


Hide of Iron

by Blackwolfrider



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fatherly Ratchet, Fluff, Ironhide doesn't die, Jazz doesn't die, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, no more NEST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2018-09-21 13:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 26,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9551858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackwolfrider/pseuds/Blackwolfrider
Summary: When Casey Wong starts working with the Autobots, she doesn't expect falling in like/love with the gruff Ironhide.





	1. Falling In Love With The Wrong Guy

As attaché to the Autobots, I found myself often in the company of their top brass - Optimus Prime, Prowl and Jazz, with the taciturn Ironhide. Sam and Mikaela were now UN ambassadors for the Cybertronians at the Hague, arguing for the Autobots' cause. I was their go-between and sometimes confidante. Their relationship was tumultuous and we were all glad they finally got married at the end, with Optimus Prime as Sam's best man (or mech). Two months later, they jetted off to the Hague. 

It was intimidating at first, working alongside the mechs as they were so tall and big. Even Bumblebee, Sam's companion, was huge. Yet they were always kind, the mechs - and open to suggestions and opinions. There weren't a lot of humans in the Autobots' base; many still bore a certain degree of prejudice and were opposed to working with them as equals. Trained as a nurse, I assisted Ratchet, the old acerbic medic. He was gruff as always, almost curt right down to rudeness. He showed his soft side once he warmed to my presence, sharing medical knowledge and comparing Earth and Cybertronian medicine. We loved to argue, bantering to and fro. It was a pleasant probation period. 

Then, there was Ironhide. 

He was more gruff than Ratchet, way more direct than the good doctor, and we ended butting heads over policies. Anything we found ourselves at loggerheads with. As a Earth female, an organic, mind you, the rest of the Autobot mechs gave me a lot of leeway. They were oddly chivalrous and old-fashioned. Ironhide was a whole other level. He preferred actions to words, the tough old mech. If he were an Earth man, he would be the grizzled middle-aged veteran throwing potshots at all the young ones. 

"Perhaps, you are falling in love with him," Mikaela suggested over Skype. Behind her, Sam was yelling at something. Football? 

"Absolutely not," I snapped. "Human and Cybertronian? No way. Besides he is a stuck-in-the-mud mech!"

"Hey, weirder shit has happened before," Mikaela grinned wickedly. "And we often fall for the wrong guy."

"That's a trope that has to die a fiery death," I blew my forelock. It had gotten too long. I had to snip it off. 

When I closed the Skype call, I sat back into my sofa chair. Was I falling in love with Ironhide? We didn't have anything in common. Nothing, nadah, zilch. I noticed him looking at me oddly at certain times and then looking quickly away as if he didn't want me to see him looking at me. He was gruff and massively rude... But he often let me win during our many arguments. Hell no, heart, don't soften... don't you ever dare!

*

That was it. After a long meeting with the Autobot brass, I stopped Ironhide at the door. He looked down at me as if I was just a speck. I straightened my shoulders and stood my ground, because bloody hell, he was going to hear me out. 

"We need to talk," I said. 

I noticed Jazz and the lot had knowing _looks_ on their faceplates. I walked out of the huge conference room, heading for the large storage bay. Ironhide followed behind. 

"We need to talk," I repeated myself. I swore Jazz and co were eavedropping. They could be, with their advanced hearing or what not. 

"Ye," Ironhide said in his deep gravelly voice. "About time."

"What do you mean?" Now it was my turn to be surprised. 

"Let's go for a drive," Ironhide suggested and morphed fluidly into his military jeep form. Even this form was big, gruff and - in some places - dented. Perhaps he really suited his name or vice versa. Ironhide. What was he hiding? 

The left door of the jeep popped open. "C'mon," Ironhide's voice sounded vaguely amused. 

*

Inside, it was the best leather and I found myself stroking it. My ride was silent. It was my first time in Ironhide. Now that sounded _wrong_. 

"Where should we go?" Ironhide's voice again. Old soldier he was, he was looking for clear orders. 

"Anywhere that is quiet enough for a talk," I said. 

"Acknowledged," Ironhide responded crisply. A soldier. I watched the scenery change from buildings, some streets, and more buildings. I wasn't really driving per se. Ironhide moved with a purpose and a certain grace. He sped past other ordinary cars on the road. I recognized the street. He was heading towards a park. 

I hadn't been to a park or any nature reserve ever since I started work as "Casey Wong, political and social attaché, Government of the United States of America." Seeing the trees made my heart sing. It was edging towards evening and the setting sun cast a golden sheet on the leaves. There were some joggers, a couple of picnickers, and kids playing with their golden retriever. The moon was already in the sky.

Ironhide "parked" under a large oak tree. He didn't morph back to his bipedal form. Wise move. We didn't want to scare the mundanes. 

For a long time, we didn't say anything. I watched the golden retriever run after a red ball, the kids laughing as they chased her. I suddenly missed my dog. 

"Casey," Ironhide's voice startled me out of my reverie. "Let's talk."

"Go ahead," I said. 

"You start first," Ironhide was definitely smiling now. I could feel it in his voice. "Since you initiated it."

The golden retriever had picked up the ball and bounded back to the kids. They ruffled her head, praising her. She wagged her tail vigorously, her tongue lolling out. A woman standing beside a SVU beckoned them. Their mom, perhaps. It was strange watching people like me, humans, organics, now. My new normal was spent with giant robots from space. Ironhide wanted me to start. He wanted answers. 

"I know we have argued a lot, like a lot, " I began, nervously rubbing my palm. "We disagree over many issues. Cybertronians and humans are not the same. Cybertronian policies are not suitable for humans..."

"Go on," Ironhide prompted. The sky was awash with bright orange and pink. The curve of the moon became more clearer. 

"I don't know why we argue," I said. "And I have caught you looking at me a couple of times."

Ironhide didn't answer. 

"I want to know something. Do you _like_ me?" 

This time, the entire jeep rumbled. I felt the thrum beneath my buttocks. 

"I find you _interesting_ ," Ironhide finally said huskily. "You are not like other Earth females. I... _like_ you."

I let out a huge sigh of relief at those words. Amazement filled me. "Really?"

"Yes. You vex me, you make my engines boil. But I like you. I want to... know you more."

Suddenly Mikaela's words were becoming real. Weirder shit was happening. I was right in the midst of it. 

"My turn," Ironhide said. "Do you... _like_ me?"

My heart pounded at those words. I knew my answer was going to change a lot of things. "Yes. I do. I _like_ you a lot."

"Oh, Casey," Ironhide's voice lowered to a whisper. 

"I am not sure how a Cybertronian-human _relationship_ is going to be like," I said, placing my hand on his dashboard, knowing that he felt and relished my touch. "I am not sure even how it is going to work out... But, let's make it work. Small steps first?"

"I am sure Optimus would have things to say," Ironside started up his engines. He sounded happier. Strangely I felt happy because he was happy. 

"Of course, he would," I giggled, imagining Optimus's expression. "He's our boss."

*  
Ironhide began his awkward but sweet way of wooing me. Takeaways from the nearby Kum Loong Restaurant would appear on my work desk, the boxes with the golden dragon printed on the cardboard. I would get chow mein and General Chao's Chicken one day, fried rice the next. Jazz finally found the courage to tease me, the rank joker! But it seemed that the Autobots were fine with it, well, all except Prowl. 

When we had free time, we would go for long drives. Ironhide didn't talk much and I was content to rest against his giant bulk. I wondered how Cybertronian males were built. Ratchet filled me in about their reproductive systems, once he knew about my thing with Ironhide. They did mate, of sorts, but not the way humans did. When they mated, they Sparked, apparently. Their essences joined, a bit like fusion. "Not your usual human genitalia," Ratchet pointed out solemnly. 

Once or twice, Ironside let me spend the night on his berth. We didn't really touch each other, even though I ached to. Instead I lay down beside him, skin against metal, soul against soul. 

We had to confront this issue sooner or later.


	2. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide and Casey finally have the Talk. And then, some more.
> 
> The usual warning: NSFW.

By-The-Book Prowl let me know how disturbed he was over our relationship. He kept on harping on the impossibility of it and how untraditional it was. He wanted us to "break it off", so to speak. I harbored rude thoughts about Prowl and his lack of Cybertronian femmes. 

"He needs to get laid," I muttered when the second-in-command finally left my office. The walls echoed with his heavy walking. My "office" was just a small room annexed beside the large hangar space allocated to the Autobots. It had at least concrete walls, not corrugated iron. 

My supervisor, Catherine, had more words about The Relationship (as she put it) when she got wind about it, no thanks to Prowl. She warned me harshly about "jeopardizing our fragile alliance with the aliens". Yep, that was right. She called them aliens. She was partly right. Like Prowl, she wanted the relationship to end, as soon as possible. 

I couldn't believe how _distraught_ I was. The words took some time to sink in. I felt like crying. Unable to go through the stack of documents (more from the Hague), I went for a walk around the base. I heard a lot of cursing, mostly in Cybertronian and a few choice words in English, coming from where the mechs usually congregated when they were off duty. I often jokingly called it "the messhall". 

Ironhide was there, holding... two javelins in his right hand. Not javelins. Two steel poles. He was trying to pick pieces of glowing energon off the table. Was he trying to learning how to use chopsticks? My sadness turned to a warm flush of affection. 

"Oh hi," I said. Ironhide paused, his chopsticks poised in mid-air. "Hi, babe."

"Is this the correct way?" Ironhide boomed, sounding frustrated. I was not surprised. Most people, especially non-Asians, found chopsticks confusing, let alone Cybertronians.

"They have to act a bit like pincers," I smiled when he tried again. The strip of energon slipped off. "Don't worry. I get it wrong too."

Ironhide chuckled, a deep chuffing coming from deep within his chest. "Really? This requires _precision_." He placed his giant chopsticks on the table, scooped up a couple of the stripes and gulped them with gusto. "I don't think you want to eat these. I bet you are hungry after your work. Want some chow mein?"

I shook my head, the sadness returning. "Prowl spoke to me this morning. He wants me to break our relationship off."

Ironhide vented air from his sides, his way of sighing. "He gave me the same lecture too. He's such a slag-head. Good at his job, brilliant as leader, but a total fool when it comes to interpersonal relationships. He's not good with us Autobots either. Not sure why Jazz could stand him."

"My supervisor also advised me to end the relationship," I rolled my eyes, remembering her screechy voice over the phone, warning me about the terrors of the aliens. "She says it jeopardizes our fragile alliance with the _aliens_." 

"That means us," Ironhide said incredulously. "So, long walks and thoughtful conversations can jeopardize the alliance with humans? I don't understand the logic behind this."

"I think it's not just 'long walks and thoughtful conversations' she's worried about," I said, sitting on the table. He was so close, so close to touch. I could smell the oils he used to lubricate his joints and servos. Earth climates were not conducive to Cybertronian bodies. When they first arrived, they found themselves combating rust. They weren't used to it. It was still a problem the Autobots dealt with daily. 

"You mean, the exchange of organic fluids during interface," Ironhide leaned back. He was sitting on some sort of chair he had crafted. His sojourn here on Earth had obviously taught him certain skills. What was he besides the designation of _soldier_? There you go. Interface. That was their word for lovemaking. At least he brought that out in the open. "It's not like you can Spark and have a Sparkling."

Sparkling. That was their word for _child_. Almost like a nervous tic, my hand glided down and touched my abdomen. I wondered how it would be like to have a child with him. But mechs didn't have human wombs. They didn't have the right genitalia like humans. 

"Though," Ironhide's tone softened, becoming tender. He leaned forward, his index finger gently stroking the curve along my jaw."I would like to have Sparklings with you." I relaxed, resting against his finger which was as long as an stanchion and triple as thick. His fingers had joints too. They growled when he moved them. 

"It's not possible," I said. "Not possible."

"I can... go ask Wheeljack to make me some augmentations," Ironhide murmured thoughtfully. 

I pulled back, staring at Ironhide. Oh my silly stubborn Ironhide. "Not Wheeljack! What do you want him to do? Give you a giant penis?"

I shut my mouth the moment the words came flooding out of it. Giant penis. There you go, girl. You said it. 

"Males of your kind have them, don't they?" Ironhide sounded incredulous once more. I had to laugh. I kissed his faceplate. 

"You don't _need_ to have a penis," I looked into his optics. "You don't."

"I don't?" Now he sounded disappointed. He glanced down at his metal body. Metal plating covered the groin area. 

Maybe it was damn time to have the talk with him. 

"Ironhide, it's time we have to talk about ... interface," I swallowed. My throat had gone dry. 

He nodded. "We have to."

"I think it's going beyond just long drives and chow mein now. I want to do it with you. I mean, I want to have sex with you. Though... we possess different genitalia. I think I want you. It's weird, hear me out. I think you are hot, for a mech. Being with you does... things to my body," I l closed my eyes. My words weren't sounding the way I wanted them to sound. They were way better in my head. 

"You mean I _arouse you_ ," Ironhide said. 

"Well, someone has been reading," I chuckled weakly. 

"Reading _and_ watching," Ironhide removed his faceplate carefully. I hadn't seen him do this before. The face behind the plate was surprisingly human-like, though still very alien in texture. The lips looked human-like. He was smiling. Coming from Ironhide, he was literally baring his soul before me. It was a privilege. 

"Watching?" I lifted an eye-brow. I was compelled to touch his face. My fingers wandered down his jaw, carefully caressing his lips. 

"Jazz suggested pornography," Ironhide said sheepishly. 

"What?!" 

"I learnt a few things."

"Ugh, no thanks to Jazz."

Ironhide stroked my face once more with his finger, before gently caressing my body with it. I gasped, unused to the flood of sensations bursting in my body. My panties suddenly felt wet. He continued stroking the erogenous zones. Smart boy. He did learn something. 

"Prowl is going to kill us," I moaned and closed my eyes. 

"He has to get through me first," Ironhide growled. 

"We need to go some place discreet!" I said urgently. "Not here at the messhall!"

Ironhide gently lifted me in his hands. _Not your traditional bridal carry_ , I thought, amazed at the sheer tenderness of his grip. He thumped out of the doorway and headed for one of the unused hangars. It was all spare plane and helicopter parts, dusty because of age. Nobody ever walked in here. 

I pulled down my work pants and peeled off my panties. Ironhide stared for a brief moment. "Continue doing what you were doing just now," I whispered. 

He got the memo. His finger stroked my body again, this time lingering more between my legs. He began to rub again my clitoris. I cried out with pleasure, frantically holding onto his finger. 

"You want more?" Ironhide sounded worried and... aroused. His voice had thickened. Deepened to an almost primal growl. 

"Yes!" 

He proceeded to stimulate that area again, listening to my soft moans. He was picking up cues. My hands gripped whatever surface I could find. I was close to coming. Ironhide didn't stop. I was moving my hips against his finger. Then the wave crashed and crashed and crashed. I felt myself come, a hot delicious flood of juices. I called out his name again and again. 

My body felt like a wet limp sack. I held onto him, panting, blinking hot tears. I dared a look at Ironhide. His front chassis heaved as if he was breathing hard. I glanced at his groin. There were streaks of bright fluid leaking from under the metal casing. So, he did _come_. Of sorts. 

"How do you feel?" Ironhide asked, cupping me into his hand. He pressed his lips against my damp forehead. 

"Very good," I kissed back. "How about you?"

Ironhide's smile took my breath away. "It was amazing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl will get on your nerves too, Mr By-The-Book and Stick-In-The-Mud. 
> 
> But hey, Ironhide and Casey are going to ignore (and annoy) him.


	3. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl confronts Casey. Casey confronts Ironhide.

"You turned our weapons specialist, Prime's best bodyguard, into... into this," Prowl groused at me. We were done with another meeting. I was about to leave when he literally blocked my way. 

"What, Prowl? Into what?" I challenged him, knowing our conversation was within ear-shot just about everyone in the room. 

Prowl seemed to have problems answering. His optics glared at me. "Break this off, this instant, or I will report you to your superiors."

"You are threatening me," I said coldly. "Please don't. The Autobots' sanctuary rests on goodwill _from_ my government and the United Nations."

Jazz carefully inserted himself between me and Prowl. He was _shielding me_ from his executive officer's wrath. "Don't do it, Prowl. Just _don't_."

The tension was so thick I could cut through with Ratchet's laser scalpel. Optimus Prime loomed above us, pulling Prowl away gently, but firmly. "Prowl, stand down. _Now_." Prime commanded. 

"I won't stand and watch her turn Ironhide into a weakling," Prowl insisted. "Haven't I warned you about mixing femmes with an actual combat unit?"

" _Stand down_ , Prowl," Optimus said. "Keep out of their personal lives."

"No, Prime, this is wrong. Their _personal_ lives are affecting us. What if she compromises everything? She's a sitting target. The Deceptions will home in on her. And Ironhide..." Prowl bit off what he was about to say next.

"Say it," I said. 

"He's _emasculated_. By you. I don't want my soldier, my friend... wrecked apart by a relationship." 

"You think our relationship has made him weak? What the hell?" I snapped. "You assume too much, Prowl."

"Prime?" Jazz interjected uncertainly. 

"I will talk to you, Prowl, once I have done talking with our ally," Optimus said, his tone stern and direct. It was an order, no doubt about it. I hated getting him involved. But he was their leader and protector of the _Ark_ , their ship.

He tactfully led me away from the overheated meeting room. We walked down the corridor towards the hangar. 

"You know, Casey, Ironhide is my oldest friend," Optimus stopped me at the hangar's archway. "We don't see optic to optic at times, but he is my most loyal soldier. He walks into things with his guns blazing. He prefers to let his weapons do the talking. Act first, think later. A weakness of his... but that's Ironhide for you."

I stared at Optimus who had lowered himself down on one knee so that he could see me better. 

"I haven't seen him behave like this... ever since Chromia left him. You have brought joy into his life. He's been a soldier for far too long and his life is all about war and fighting. Here and on Cybertron. You made him smile, Casey. I haven't seen him do that for a vorn, maybe more than that. For this, I am grateful."

Chromia? An ex? 

"Now Prowl's accusation of you emasculating him has some validity. We are in a war. Soldiers shouldn't put their emotions first, though I feel Prowl tends to exaggerate issues a little. He genuinely cares for his mechs and Jazz keeps a firm check on him now and then. Promise me one thing, Casey."

"What, sir?" 

"Ironhide has a tough exterior. It hides a lot of things, including his kindness. It makes him strong as a warrior. Make sure that you keep that iron hide intact. We need him in the war. We also need you. "

"Yes, sir!"

"Now I will go talk some sense to Prowl..." Optimus's low chuckle made me smile too. 

*

Ironhide was polishing his large bazooka weapon when I walked into his berth. He quickly put it away, as if he was ashamed of being seen with it when I was around. 

"More complaints from Prowl?" Ironhide said gently. 

"The usual, though Optimus is going to talk to him," I said, suddenly feeling very very tired. I was due for my annual leave anyway. Somewhere far away from Prowl, with Ironhide beside me... Wishful thinking, girl, wishful thinking. "So, who is Chromia?"

Ironhide was rigid in his seat. "Where did you hear from it from?"

"Prime," I said. 

He rubbed his faceplate with his servo. "That's a name I haven't heard for... ages."

"She is your lover, isn't she?" I knew I sounded hard. I didn't like the spike of jealousy the moment I heard her name. 

"She... was," Ironhide said. I detected a hint of bitterness. "Even if I tell you I miss her, would you even care?"

The jealousy had morphed into full-fledged anger. I couldn't help it. He missed her. Was I some substitute? 

"I would care," I replied tersely. "I would care very much. I am not a substitute for her, thanks."

"Whoa, Casey, calm down."

"You didn't tell me about her," now I knew I was acting totally immature now, like any other woman who found out about her man's exes. 

"I thought it didn't matter," Ironhide said quietly. "When I left Cybertron, I left those memories behind."

"At least coming clean to me is a good idea," I said, forcing myself to sit down on one of the boxes he liked to keep around his berth. "How many more are you hiding?"

"Primus, now you are just blowing it up to epic proportions!"

"Says the guy who likes to blow things up."

Ironhide didn't rise to my bait. In fact, he had gone very silent, just simply looking at me with mournful optics. "I believe you didn't intend to walk into my berth to talk to me about this. I haven't even questioned you about your past male partners," he said after a while. 

"I..." I got off from the box and walked right up to Ironhide. I pressed myself against his legs. They were oddly warm. "I am...sorry."

"That's better," Ironhide said, his hand carefully resting on my back. "I apologize too, for raising my voice at you."

"You didn't," I wiped away a tear. So this was our first legitimate argument. Wowee. "On a happier note, Prime is okay with us being... us."

"That's not surprising, knowing him. We all lost loved ones during this war. Things like our relationship ... are often cherished."

"No hard feelings?"

"No. You had the right to ask. Would you be interested in some Chinese takeaway?"

"That sounds good. By the way, you haven't even told me how you get them."

I just knew he _smiled_. "I have my ways."

"Oh?"

"It's a secret," Ironhide flexed his fingers. This time he didn't seem worried about me standing close to his bazooka. 

*  
He returned later with two boxes from Kum Loong's. We had our meal, him with his energon stripes, and me with the chow mein. It was too oily and way too salty for my liking.

"Chinese home-cooking isn't like that, you know," I said. "Not much MSG and a lot more subtle flavors. My parents hate takeaways..."

"Do I get to meet your parents one day?" Ironhide munched on an energon strip. "I have read that it is customary to meet your future spouse's parents."

 _Spouse?_ "Are you proposing to me?" I laughed. 

"Eventually," Ironhide said cheekily. 

"For an old soldier, you have many surprises."

"That's how I keep myself young."

I leaned against him. Military jeep. GMC Topkick trunk. Either way, he was still intimidating to those who didn't know him. His enemies. People he hated. 

"So tell me more about your past male partners," Ironhide prompted. "Since we are in the spirit of coming clean."

"You wily old fox," I slapped his arm playfully. Mistake. Hitting metal wasn't a good idea after all. 

"I'm listening, sweet heart." 

"Well, there was Max in my high school. He was a jerk. Then when I went to college, there was Stefan. I actually thought we could go all the way to marriage. Stefan broke up with me, because he was seeing another girl. I was heartbroken and I swore off men entirely. Threw myself into nursing."

Ironhide rumbled softly. "Then you met me."

"Well, I spent a couple of years as a trained nurse in the armed corps. Then I started to veer more towards embassy work due to my translating skills. I seem to have a knack for it, according to the person who got me in. Then you guys came along and you know the rest of the story."

"Yeah, I checked. _Lieutenant_ Casey Wong. It says that you resigned?"

"I did. The government didn't want to let me go that easily. At least embassy work is desk work. How much did you check up on me?"

"You were born in 1985. Aquarius."

"Don't tell me you are into astrology."

"Nonsense. Astrology is bullshit. Astronomy is better."

"You silly mech, I love you."

Ironhide's soft sigh was all I heard. "I needed to hear that." 

We cleared away the food. It was late. I didn't bother to go back to the prefab apartment the government had erected for me next to the base. Instead I fell asleep, fully clothed, half-listening to him watch 1940s war cartoons. Bugs Bunny was beating up Nazis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl can be a pain in the aft, sometimes.


	4. Bad Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey gets awful flashbacks. Ironhide is there to comfort her.

_Explosions are happening around me. The base is under attack! Get the patients ready for evacuation! The power generators are down! Hurry up!_

My patient was fading in front of me. It was all darkness around me, mortars falling and exploding. My heart was pounding so hard it hurt. Why was it dark? Are the generators gone? 

I screamed myself awake. Something was suffocating me. I began to kick and bite.

"Casey, Casey, you're having a bad dream," a familiar voice was my anchor in this darkness. Why was there ... thunder? "Hold onto my finger. I am here. I am solid."

Slowly, the grip around my throat loosened. It was terror, plain and simple, and it was back to haunt me like a demon. I held to the solid thing for dear life.

Ironhide.

"Sorry," I said hoarsely. It was just a thunderstorm. Just a plain old stupid thunderstorm. 

Ironhide's finger stroked my head slowly, gently, as if he was soothing a fretful child. I calmed down at his touch. "You have been hiding something from me," he murmured. 

"I spent two years stationed at Baghdad. Army hospital. The men under my care... They had lost limbs. We got attacked a few times. The worst one... we had to evacuate. The mortars were falling around us." I hugged myself, aware of my tears flowing down my face. "They were really loud. Like thunder. Like the end of the world. I only wanted to get my patients to safety."

"Is it because of this you resigned from the armed corps?" Ironhide asked.

I stared at him, in the semi-darkness of his berth. He was half-covered by shadows, like a dark mountain come to life. All I saw was his faceplate. 

"I _am_ a soldier," he said, the tip of his finger caressing my face. "I know."

"I thought I was ok," I wiped away the tears with the back of my hand, feeling stupid and yet, oddly relieved. "I haven't had episodes like this for quite some time now."

"These things _are_ tricky," Ironhide allowed me to curl against his front chassis. "They make you think you have recovered. They are just waiting for the right time to jump on you and mess your insides up. Have you talked to anyone?"

"One of the army psychiatrists," I said, listening to the faint thunder. The rain must be easing off by now. "And Ratchet."

"That's good," Ironhide nodded with approval. "Talk to that old reprobate. He knows more than most of us, primarily because he's been a medic for so long."

"Even during the wars on Cybertron?"

"He's seen stuff, heard stuff. He tries his best to fix us. Even old soldiers."

"Like you."

"Like me. Sweet heart, I saw things and did things that would give anyone nightmares. Primus, even I _have_ nightmares."

"Oh, Ironhide."

"I just hide them better. As for you, you need to sleep."

"Yes, sir!" 

"Just rest against me. I'll keep you safe."

"You know, at least we do have something in common."

"Oh, shush. And that's an order."

My sleep later was dream-less and deep, filled with the resonating hum of Ironhide's Spark.


	5. Vulnerabilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey gets more warnings. She might lose her job and Ironhide. She also gets a present from the gruff warrior. 
> 
> NSFW.

Mikaela's laugh was infectious, filling the room with pure unadulterated joy. From where I sat, I could see that it was late afternoon. Still daytime. 

"I guessed it, Casey. Congratulations!"

"Oh, _puhlease_ ," I rolled my eyes. 

"So," she batted her eyelids. "Is it an older man/young woman thing?"

"Oh, shut up!" I yelled and she dissolved into laughter once more. 

"You do know that Ironhide is one of the old warhorses, right? Oh please don't tell me that age doesn't matter..."

I had to smile. "You're _hilarious_ , Mikaela. So anything from the Hague?"

"China and India protested rather vehemently about having the Autobots as protectors of the Earth. Norway had to step in as mediator. I bet they haven't seen how bad the Deceptions can be."

Try as I could, I couldn't deny an instant chill when I heard the word 'Decepticons'. They had gone to ground. Silent. This itself was terrifying. Sam and Mikaela had experienced the horrors of the Decepticons first-hand. I had only read about their depravity. The way the Autobots talked about them, they were the worst kind of Cybertronians who ever stepped foot on Earth. Blood-thirsty. Greedy. War-mongering. I had heard more damning comments about them from Ratchet and Jazz. 

That particular chill lingered for the rest of the day. 

*

I ducked out of the office, my head stuffed with too much document-reading and filing. Desk work also meant dealing with the bureaucracy. Red tape seemed endless. Somewhere, someone was blocking us, denying our requests and delaying supplies. I was familiar with such tactics in the armed corps. 

The proverbial straw that broke my back was Catherine's barbed email regarding - you guess it - Ironhide. "Alliances like these are not permitted," the email went. "Your position as attaché has privileges. Yet privileges could be easily be revoked."

I could lose my job.

I could also very possibly lose Ironhide.

Inhaling the desert smells, I was glad to be away from the desk. The Autobots had set up their headquarters at one of the old airbases. It was a large stretch of pure Colorado Desert: blue skies and flat land festooned with saguaro and saltbush. Like Edwards Airbase, it was built for the Air Force's many airplanes and jets. The government's thinking was clear as day: _keep the Autobots away from the humans_. They didn't want to risk it after what the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons had done to major cities. I could still drive out to the town and their park. Yet, for all intent and purposes, once the Autobots were out of sight, they were hopefully out of people's minds.

It would be nice to go to the park once more. Some lush trees would be nice. Of course, we got rain from the monsoons (and the thunderstorms that came with it). It was simply too much desert for me.

It was verging towards afternoon when I started my walk along the path. The heat was breathtaking, the sun bright in the sky. Something caught my eye. A bobcat, perhaps. Definitely some cat-like animal foraging about. It darted away before I identified it. I had seen mule deer and jackrabbit early in the morning. I hadn't seen the diamondbacks yet, but I was sure to stay away from them. 

I walked back to the office, hankering for ice-cold beer. I loosened my jacket and finally took it off. My white blouse was already soaked through. 

Ironhide was waiting for me in front of the office. He was back from patrol. These days the Autobots were on patrol. Prowl, Jazz, even Optimus. 

"How was patrol?" I smiled, glad to see a friendly face, especially _his_ friendly face. 

"Desert, plain and simple," Ironhide said, shrugging his enormous shoulders. "It's too quiet. I don't like it."

"You and me, babe," I agreed. 

"Too quiet and they sneak up," Ironhide said, staring out into the desert. "The Decepticons are up to something." 

"I thought I saw something when I was out," I reached out my right hand to touch his thigh. "A bobcat. Something feline. I don't think we get mountain lions this far into the desert." 

"We need to keep our eyes peeled," Ironhide vented air from his shoulder plates. 

"You mean 'optics'?" I teased him. 

"Semantics," he growled irritably, before softening his tone. "I got you something." 

He reached into one of his many compartments and pulled out a paper-wrapped parcel. He placed it in the center of his right palm. It looked like a darning needle. When I lifted it up, it wasn't a darning needle. 

"Open it," Ironhide nudged me very gently with his hand. 

I unwrapped the parcel, only to find a box, the kind you put a gun in. When I opened it, I gasped. It was a brand-new Beretta 92F2 Inox stainless steel pistol. 

"Where did you get this from?" I was flabbergasted. _Where was the paperwork for this? Did he even care about paperwork?_

"I'm a weapons specialist, remember," Ironhide said proudly. "I've my ways of finding things." With a clash of metal plates, he went down on one knee on the hard earth.

"Oh, shit, the paperwork for this," I turned it in my hand. I had trained with this before at the shooting range of the academy.

"You don't like it?" Ironhide sounded disappointed. 

"No, no, I _like_ it. It's just... " I shook my head. "Thank you though."

"This one has _Bruniton_ which gives better corrosion resistance. I like the Beretta. It's such an elegant weapon." 

I pulled the slide, exposing the ejection port and the barrel mechanism. The magazine had already been slotted in. I sighted my point of aim at a distant saguaro. Ironhide corrected my aim, his hand pushing the gun down. I was holding it too high. When I readjusted my grip and point of aim, I swore Ironhide beamed. He had that kind of look on his faceplate. "I want you to use this. To protect yourself."

"Ironhide..." I leaned over and kissed his faceplate. "I gotta go back to work. I will see you this evening?"

*

After our usual dinner of chow mein (me) and energon stripes (him), we held each other closely. Or that he let me curl up against his front chassis. One thing led to another. Soon, he was nuzzling me, moving his faceplate along my body. 

"Roll over," I murmured. 

"Um," Ironhide obeyed. 

I had to be direct. He had shown me his face. Would he show me what was beneath the groin metal casing? 

"May I see your - um - _groin_?" Oops. Well, that was really _romantic_ , wasn't it? 

Ironhide studied my face for a long time. "You mean my interface?

"Wait. Hold on. I need to get this clear. Does interface also mean sex for Cybertronians?" I sat up, folding my arms across my chest. 

"Yes, it can mean sex," Ironhide replied, leaning down to remove the metal casing. "This," he opened it, revealing a thick rod-like object. "This is my interface rod. We sometimes call it interface for short." I gaped. The interface rod was long and decidedly unfriendly-looking. Almost like a steel pipe. _As long as it doesn't uncoil like a freaking python_ , I thought. Ratchet was right. Cybertronian genitalia did not look anything at all like human genitalia. Not even by the remotest stretch of imagination. "Are you frightened by it?"

"It's... strange, that's all," I said. "Can I touch it?"

He began to chuckle. "Go ahead. It's not going to bite you."

I burst out laughing at this. My fingers touched warm metal. Not skin-warm, just warm, like I was touching the surface of a lava lamp. Getting bolder, I stroked it. This time, Ironhide exhaled loudly, venting hot air through his sides.

"Well, it's definitely erogenous," I noted playfully. "Do you have other erogenous zones?" 

"Stroke my chassis," Ironhide guided my hand to his front chest plate. I caressed it, feeling the chrome and glass under my finger tips. Ironhide leaned back, sighing softly. "Continue," he breathed, his voice husky.  
I stroked the plate, caressing it, teasing it with my fingers. Ironhide shuddered. As I proceeded to plant kisses on the metal curves, he moaned. Legitimately moaned. I stifled my own moan. I was already moist when I started stroking his chassis. With him vocalizing like this, I was becoming more aroused. I let him watch as I removed my blouse and pants, until I was only clad in my bra and panties. He hadn't seen me naked before. Wordlessly, I unclasped my bra. 

"Primus," Ironhide uttered, his voice low, half-choked with emotion. His fingers ran down my hips, hooking the end of my panties, pulling it downward. I got the hint and peeled the panties off, tossing it off the berth. " _Oh, Primus_ ," he breathed. I saw myself reflected in the front chest plate, dark pubic triangle and all.

_Shit, what would my parents think?_ I wanted _more_. I wanted _him_. I rested my naked body against his front, my nipples instantly turning hard when they came in contact with the chrome. I kissed the chassis again and again, licking it with my tongue, pressing myself against him. At one point, I seriously thought he was going to turn me over and thrust hard into me, interface rod and all. Was he restraining himself? What was he waiting for? 

He lay me down carefully on the berth, his huge hand parting my legs. I cried out and bit my lip as he moved his finger against my moist clitoris and labia.

"Let me pleasure you," I begged. "Please."

Ironhide shook his head slowly. "Let me give you pleasure. Do you trust me?" His finger eased in, causing me to stiffen immediately. "I am using the very tip of my finger. Am I hurting you?" his worried voice was absolutely tender. "Should I stop?"

"No, no," I said, forcing my body to relax. The feeling of fullness was indescribable and the tip of his finger wasn't even fully in. I believed him. He won't hurt me.

Then I felt the thrusting begin, slowly, before it gained speed. Pleasure and pain were one and the same. I moved my hips against it, losing myself in the rhythm. The pressure began to build, an enormous wave rolling in. " _Ironhide!_ " I heard myself crying out and sobbing when I climaxed. I rode the orgasm as it crested, my hips grinding against his finger. I was trembling so hard my teeth chattered. When the tremors eased, I stared at the ceiling, regaining my composure. My sweaty skin was suddenly cool when a draft of air blew in from the air vents. I heard him breathing heavily. 

Panting slightly, I rolled over. Ironhide had left his groin metal casing open. 

"Let me pleasure you," I pleaded again. His optics shifted, a subtle Yes. His back arched ever so slightly as I fondled his interface rod. It was hot to my touch. It didn't take long for him to become completely undone. "Casey!" he groaned. His entire frame quaked. shaking the berth. "Casey!" Bright fluid overflowed from the rod. It was warm, like gel, but not quite. I examined the fluid coating my hand. They left neon white streaks on my skin. 

I kissed him lightly on the faceplate. Ironhide didn't move as if he was drained of energy. We lay together, side by side, our breathing in tandem. My hand touched his, reassuringly, seeking reassurance. Seeing Ironhide so vulnerable shook me to the core. A soldier, a _warrior_ , who had bared himself, soul and all, before me. While he went offline to recharge, I wept myself to sleep.


	6. Birds And Bees, Cybertronian Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good doctor sits Casey down. Medical discussion happens.

Ratchet sat me down, literally, on one of his med-beds, the moment he caught hold of me the next morning. For some strange reason, I felt much better after the bout of weeping I'd after our love-making. I went about with a smile on my face and lightness in my steps. _If this is love, could I have it for the next thousand years or more?_

The med-bed was built for a giant mech. I was tiny on it. I felt as all my patients felt when the army MOs ordered them about. Friendly, but brisk. Warm, but also detached. Knowing Ratchet, it was also blunt, to the point. I listened to Ratchet discuss something with First Aid, his assistant MO, before walking back to me, holding a scanner, the size of a small box. He ran it down my body twice. I swore he vented a sigh of relief.

"What's the problem, Ratchet?" I asked. "Is there a problem?"

The Autobot physician put the scanner down next to me. It had Cybertronian glyphs on it. I made a mental note to understand more Cybertronian. At least, to be able to read the glyphs. I could poke Ironhide to teach me the basics.

"My dear," Ratchet said, using his favorite human affectations. All the Autobots seemed to have adopted their pet human phrases. "There's no problem... which is the problem."

"I don't understand," I was confused. Was Ratchet being deliberately obtuse. First Aid tactfully ducked out of the medical bay. 

"You are _clean_ ," Ratchet continued. "Tell me the truth, Casey, did you exchange bodily fluids?" 

"No."

"Did you ingest any bodily fluids?"

"No. _Ratchet?_ "

The physician vented a sigh and leaned against one of the counters kept fastidiously clean by him. Once I left, he was probably going to scrub the med-bed down. "I shall explain the concept of bodily fluids. Cybertronians do have bodily fluids, though unlike human bodily fluids or secretions. At times, if you notice, we are noted to cry, like humans. Likewise, we have been observed to urinate, no thanks to Bumblebee's rather public display."

"Oh, Sam mentioned that. It was funny!" I laughed. 

"But all these emissions of fluids or whatever you call it are imitations. We do it to imitate or simulate human emotional responses. We do vent coolant when we encounter intensely emotive situations. Some slag-heaps vent oil when they want to show disrespect to individuals they don't like. Yet... when it comes to interfacing, the fluids we emit are not analogous to human ones."

Ratchet was stalling. I wondered why he was hesitating. 

"Ratchet, how exactly do Cybertronians mate?" I said. "What's the bright white stuff that comes of interface rods?"

His optics widened. He made the sound of choking, before clearing his throat box. "I just knew you were going to ask me that."

"So, tell me. Don't stall."

"Cybertonians do mate, in a fashion. Most of the time, it is the fusion of their Sparks. After being influenced by human social norms, thanks to many eons of Earth contact, many started to mate in a similar way. Then, it became our norm. Male Cybertronians have functional interface rods through which they pass the vital fluids to trigger Spark-merging in their partners," Ratchet said. "Did Ironhide do something like that?"

"I... I stimulated his interface rod," I muttered. 

"Don't mutter," Ratchet snapped irritably. "Old mechs like me can't hear that well."

"Okay, okay, I stimulated his interface rod," I raised my voice. "A bright white fluid came out of the tip. Is it like human semen?"

"You don't have to shout. Oh, do you mean sperm? I will use the word 'analogous' again. Because of human influence on our sexual mores, many males convince themselves to vent it when they overload after their interfacing bouts. The white fluid, however, contains nanites, tiny microscopic bots."

I thought of the white streaks on my hand. I wiped them off on the edge of the berth. "Do they penetrate through skin?"

"Judging from my studies, no," Ratchet shook his head. "Well, not at the moment, anywhere. Cybertronian bodies have evolved, though not at an astronomical rate. You touched the white fluid, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, you are _clean_. They're not in you. I will surmise he did not vent them into you."

"Well, not when he's built that _big_!" I retorted. Oddly enough, I was surprised to feel a deep sadness. Disappointment? 

"Ratchet," I said, phrasing my next few words carefully. "Ironhide said he wanted to have Sparklings with me. How does pregnancy even work with Cybertronians?"

"Now, that's a gray area subject to debate over millennia," Ratchet took the scanner once more, activating it. "Look at this glyph."

The glyph resembled a green question mark with a prominent and larger dot at the bottom."It means you have not gestated. If the glyph has a missing circle, it signifies gestation."

"Oh."

"Sparklings are uncommon. Most Cybertronians sire children by activating their Sparks. Femme Cybertronians have a specific nook in their chassis to contain the child, so to speak. So do some males, matter-of-fact. Gestation is a particularly life-threatening task. A Sparkling requires a femme Cybertronian to sacrifice bits of her body."

"Just like human women."

"Well, if you put it that way, but imagine metal bits being torn out from your internal engines to create the Sparkling. It is a painful process for the femme, even more so for males. When she delivers the Sparkling, she have to pull apart her chassis, something which might end up killing her instead. That's why Sparklings are... uncommon. Not rare, but uncommon. We all want to sire our own progeny, believe me. It is a solemn undertaking between sire and dame or sire and sire. And as for Ironhide, he should know better."

"What can nanites do, especially if they get inside me?" I ventured. 

"That's the problem I was talking about. We don't know. Human scientists theorize nanites might control the host. As for Cybertronian _reproductive nanites_... "

"Like knit me a new body or something?" I said lamely.

"I'm not sure how they would react with a human ovum."

"Are you afraid I would carry some mutant?"

"Primus, no!" Ratchet said, softening his tone. "One thing about medicine, human or Cybertronian, it's the unknown that keeps us physicians on our toes. We could make all kinds of predictions. We could come up with parameters, the _knowns_. We could speculate until the proverbial bovines return to their corrals. It's the variables, the internal and external factors that mitigate change. You are _not_ going to carry a mutant."

"Ratchet..." _How could he sound so damned sure?_

"When Ironhide said he wanted Sparklings with you, I believe he means it. Primus, he's serious about the relationship. He _wants_ you, to put it simply."

"I can never be like Chromia. I'm not even Cybertronian."

"Now you sound just like a petty _child_ , Casey. Of course, you can't be Chromia. You are human. Listen to me. Here's the now. Ironhide lives in the now and so should you."

"So, what if the nanites get inside me?" I glared hard at Ratchet. _What if, Ratchet, what if? And what if I want it too?_

"We will cross the bridge when we get there," Ratchet said. 

*

Ironhide showed me his name in Cybertronian. They looked elegant, modest even. They reminded me of the Chinese calligraphy Dad did in his spare time. In fair exchange, I wrote out my full name in Chinese characters. Dad and Mom was determined I had a Chinese name.

The rest of the day was unseasonably hot. Heat lightning flickered in the sky. The landscape looked prickly, hostile. Ratchet complained about aching joints and servos. Most of the Autobots stayed indoors. 

When the attack came, nobody was prepared for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Fatherly (and Sarcastic) Ratchet.
> 
> The ending is ominous. :D


	7. Attack!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingers crossed for Casey.

The loud sonic boom alerted us. It was not thunder. Thunder didn't sound like that. I recognized it straight away, after hearing jets fly above Baghdad. Oh no, it was starting again. By reflex, I grabbed something close by: my Beretta.

A F-15 was barreling its way toward the base. The markings indicated that it was definitely _not_ ours. Cybertronians would often try to find ways to disguise themselves so that they could somehow assimilate into Earth society. The end results were at best idiosyncratic quirks or at worst, outright mistakes. 

Everything about this fighter jet was _off_. 

"We are under attack!" Prowl was yelling. His words reverberated in the hangar bay, shaking the walls. In his bipedal form, he could modify his voice to a howl. "Secure the parameters. Repel Starscream!"  
Ironhide thumped past me in full combat mode, huge cannons and all. Turning back, he said tersely: "Go hide! _Now!_ "

It was the exact time things started exploding around me. 

"Oh, Primus... _CASEY!_ " Ironhide shouted.

I couldn't hear him. Everything was fucking muffled. I hunkered down, fighting the urge to curl up into a fetal position. The explosions were starting again. Why couldn't they stop? Then a huge metal wall blocked everything from my sight. Ironhide. His body protecting me, literally a metal shield. He was laying down suppression fire, his cannons booming. I gasped as heat from the discharge washed over me. Everything was _burning_.

"Get it together," Ironhide's voice sounded as if he was speaking through gritted teeth. "I want you to stay focused. Breathe."

"How?" I choked. 

More explosions. Somebody was being thrown at the wall. Flung, more like it. The mech went down crashing. 

"Jazz!" 

"All hail Megatron!"

That was said in an alien voice, filled with screeching metal and hatred. "How pathetic. Protecting humans again?" 

"Shut up, Starscream," Ironhide was snarling at the speaker. I shivered at the venom in his voice. Oh shit, we were stuck in a hostile combat situation. 

"Stay away from them, you slagging aft-hole."

_Prowl._

"My, my, such language." The screechy voice bore contempt and sarcasm. 

Looking up, I saw crimson eyes staring at me. Feline, but not quite. A metallic panther padded towards me, its whip-like tail lashing the air. My hands shook, lifting the Beretta. My aim kept on wavering. The panther seemed unfazed and intended on killing me. I squeezed the trigger. The Beretta fired, hit the panther with a loud _ping_ and barely dented its muzzle. It let loose a growl which palpitated my organs. Infrasound? 

" _Duck, Casey!_ "

 _Jazz_.  
Suddenly my entire body lifted into the air. There was light and sound, and Ironhide roaring wordlessly. Something clunked hard into my head and my skull exploded into more light. I was flying and dying at the same time. 

*

I saw faces. Ratchet. A human male's face, middle-aged. Their mouths were moving. Nothing came out. Something was howling. A low moaning that pierced through my consciousness. _Ironhide. Is that you? Where are you, Ironhide?_ A woman in green scrubs, her face urgent. Bright lights shining into my face.

I slept. I thought I slept. 

The moaning. Always the low sad moaning. 

When I finally opened my eyes again, I thought I had well and truly died. Everything was white all around me. I turned to my left. A giant figure sat next to me, head bowed. I felt so weak. So so weak. 

"Ironhide?" I said or thought I said. I was attached to wires and machines. I somehow recognized them. Life-support machines. I was on a ventilator

Then I slipped back into unconsciousness, welcomed back by the darkness. The same howl followed me when I went down the rabbit hole.

*

When I woke up, a fresh-faced nurse was arranging bright tiger lilies beside me. I must have made a sound because she turned and smiled warmly at me. 

"Hello, love," she sounded British. 

"Where... am I?" I said. My entire body was numb. I couldn't feel anything. My right side was all bandaged up. Pressure bandages. I had surgery done. I couldn't see that well, as if I was only seeing out of one eye... My hand reached up, only to feel more crinkly bandages covering my right temple. 

"UC San Diego Medical Center," the nurse replied. 

The memories of the attack came flooding back. I winced at the pain, at the flash of light accompanying it. 

"You had some trauma. You were brought here by medevac. Broken two ribs, head concussion, hip fracture."

"Ventilator..." I shifted my head slowly. I was only attached to a hypertension monitor, my left arm wrapped in a cuff. 

"You _were_ on a ventilator. You were in a coma for a few days. The surgeons thought they almost lost you. There was tremendous blood, especially from your head wound. For now though, you have to contend with bruises and months of recovery."

 _Did I honestly sound like that to my patients?_ Good grief. "Um, thank you."

The nurse smiled and turned to leave. 

"Did anyone... visit me?"

"A man. Big burly guy. Older gent. Ex-soldier, looks like it. Your partner?"

"Um," I said, feeling dizzy again. They must have pumped me full with meds. My entire body felt leaden.

"I will let you rest," the nurse said before she opened the door and left. I heard she greet somebody at the door. 

"Casey?"

The voice was undoubtedly Ironhide's. My heart thumped hard. I was on the verge of blacking out again. I was so damned glad to hear his voice. 

A man walked in, clad in a beige t-shirt and faded denims. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, he certainly looked like an ex-soldier. His hair was mostly white, with hints of black, shaved close to his skull. Clean-shaved, for the most part. As I stared at the man, his outline seemed to flicker like an old-fashioned TV about to go on the frizz.

"Ironhide," I blurted. "Is that really you?"

"Yes, sweet heart," the man said with Ironside's voice. "Well, a hologram of how I imagined I'd look as a human man anyway."

He reached over and touched my face. It felt tactile enough, real enough. 

"It's good to see you awake," Ironhide said, a small hitch in his voice. "I... was worried."

"Hologram... how?"

"Wheeljack's idea," Ironhide's human lips smiled. "He calls it a Full Immersive Simulation Hologram."

"FISH," I said. "Typical Wheeljack. Gotta love his puns."

"It's still highly experimental," Ironhide stroked my face gently. "I am technically parked outside the hospital and I can't sustain this form for long. Expends a lot of energy."

"Oh, Ironhide," I reached for his hand, gripping it hard. "I _miss_ you."

"I just came to see if you were alright," Ironhide said, suddenly brusque. His eyes belied his misery. I always imagined them to be blue. They now were almost dark-ish, filled with untold pain.

"Well, I am now awake, am I?" I said. "You guys _repelled_ them? Please tell me you did." 

"We... did," Ironhide smiled. In this form, he had a craggy face. The smile made more creases. "We kicked Starscream's aft and threw Ravage out."

"God," I breathed. "Thank goodness." _They would be back_ , I thought. _They would certainly be back. And they won't stop at just explosions._

"I..." he knelt down beside the hospital bed. "I couldn't save you. You were caught in the explosion..." The pain in his voice made me want to sob aloud. "When we finally found you, you were..."

"Don't beat yourself up over this. Please don't."

Ironhide's sad smile was his only answer. He leaned over and kissed me lightly on the forehead. I felt the dry brush of lips on my skin. I shivered at the deliciousness of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide has another surprise.


	8. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery takes three weeks, but there are already consequences.

I spent three more weeks in the hospital, the resident physicians and surgeons remarking that my healing was faster than they'd expected. By the end of the first week, I was bored. The cuff around my arm was giving me rashes. Had the nurses remove them. My blood pressure was fine. 

Mom called me via the hospital. I could feel her panic even through the receiver. I heard Dad's voice behind her, a steady calm commentary. He was telling her not to worry, that I could take care of myself. I was thirty two, for fuck's sake. "I told you not to sign up for this job," Mom was saying in Cantonese. "You didn't listen!"

Dad took over the phone. I imagined him literally grabbing the smartphone from Mom's hand. "Don't listen to your mother. You are a big girl now."

"She ought to get married!" Mom was grousing in the background. They were watching Cantonese opera on the telly. 

"See, she _wants_ grandchildren," Dad chuckled. I rolled my eyes, but laughed. Dad was always the one diffusing tense situations with his dry humor. "We live in modern times now. Come back for dinner once you're discharged."

In a way, I was glad to hear my parents' voices. I went back to a light doze after the phone call. 

*

'Curt' visited me on Wednesdays and Fridays. That was the name Ironhide had chosen for himself. He couldn't stay for long. He would simply hold my hand. Sometimes he brought flowers. Once he picked a bunch of prickly pear and caused much amusement amongst the nurses on that particular shift. I was touched by his gesture.

The physiotherapist visited me once a day. Getting back to my feet was a bitch. I hurt like hell. Didn't dare to walk for a couple of days. Hannah simply told me to "walk". The first time I tried, it felt as if my insides were trying to fall out. My hips refused to work, straight up went on a rebellion. I persisted. So I was making trips to the bathroom attached to the ward. Then, once I was braver, out to the nurses' station. 

Some days I wondered idly who the hell was footing the bill for this. Certainly not NEST, long since defunct and disbanded. Probably still the government. It must be _expensive_ just to keep me alive. 

*  
The day I was discharged, I was surprised to see Ratchet parked outside the hospital foyer like any ambulance. Ironhide came, in his truck form. Both had activated their hologram drivers. "Curt" was in Ironhide's driver seat.   
Gingerly, I got up onto the passenger seat of the truck. I felt Ironhide's warmth and affection. I waved to the patient assistant before "Curt" drove us away. 

The drive back to the base was silent. I stared out into the open space, immensely relieved to see deep blue skies and scudding white clouds. 

*

"Off your aft," Ratchet said the moment we arrived at the base. 

"Ratchet, give her a break," Ironhide growled. 

"Human physiotherapy leaves much to be desired," Ratchet snapped. 

I gazed up at the metal giants. "Hannah's good. I could at least walk without falling over."

"Let me see," Ratchet's tone was relentless. 

I walked carefully, placing one foot after another. My hips gave the occasional twinge, a sign that they were still healing. _No running or any vigorous activity for a month or so_ , the doctors warned me.

"You lean a lot on your left," Ratchet observed.

"Is that a problem, Ratchet?" Ironhide asked, his voice raised. I was surprised how _protective_ he was.

"Cool your reactors, Ironhide," the old medic said mildly. "Or I could personally dump your over-heated processor in Venus."

"Guys, guys, just _stop_ ," I intervened before Ironhide looked as if he would outright clobber Ratchet. Ratchet, his friend, for goodness's sake. "I am okay. Just get me back to my apartment."

"As you wish," Ratchet bowed slightly and walked back to the medical bay, his back strut straight, his bearing haughty.

*

The apartment, as I suspected, was still a mess with clothes strewn all over. Yet it looked like somebody had washed the dishes in the sink and even slotted the plates back on the rack. The bedsheets had been changed, the comforter washed. Even the pillows had been fluffed. 

Ironhide peered through the window, his optics gleaming. 

"Are you satisfied with your lodgings?" he rumbled. "Is there anything amiss?"

"I'm satisfied," I reassured him quickly. "I'll spend my night here, babe. I tire easily."

"I'll be outside," Ironhide muttered. 

That night, after warming up some canned chicken soup and gulping down painkillers, I lay down in my bed, aching all over, aching for his touch. I knew that he stood guard outside my apartment. Comforted by his presence, I drifted off to sleep. My dreams were of me chasing a little girl across a garden. She had my features, but bits of metal wove along her jaws like silver filigree. She called out to another person in the dream. "Daddy, daddy!" She turned and she had Ironhide's eyes.


	9. Afraid Of Hurting You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out.

The truth came out, eventually, during a conversation with Ratchet.

I managed to clear the emails, voice mail (from Catherine), and composed a quick note to Sam and Mikaela who were beside themselves with worry. Not surprisingly, the UN council was concerned about the attack and threw not-so-subtle jibes at our way. One or two countries voted to have NEST return as a proper agency. They were fortunately vetoed. William Lennox seemed to have gone off the grid after he retired from active service to devote more time on his wife and his kids. Catherine had tried to contact him, but to no avail.

She also wanted me replaced by somebody more "competent" or so she said. Her suggestion was over-ruled. 

So, I went about cleaning my work-table. I hated cabin fever. I also hated feeling completely useless. Despite of Ratchet's strict warnings, I threw away boxes of paperwork, found some succulents to go with the desert theme, and scrubbed the table top with antiseptic. I was determined to have a fresh start. 

It was one of the many cleaning sessions Ratchet found me, bent over the filing cabinet. He clicked his glossia in a human imitation of irritation. I thought it was Ironhide. He had been going on long patrols these days, returning at times in the middle of the night. 

"I told you no aggravation of your hips," Ratchet huffed. "The slag-heaps are infuriating enough. You seem to have joined their wonderful group."

"My office's _dusty_ ," I said. I sounded like my mom.

"We are also in the middle of a desert," Ratchet countered. "With winds. Of course, there will always be dust."

I snorted. "Explains why you clean your med-bay all the time."

"I am a fastidious old medic mech," Ratchet rolled his optics. "You, however, shouldn't be making your hips worse."

"Aw, they're healing fast!"

"That's why they always say. And then, they sneak in for a patch-up, looking all sorry."

Ratchet leant against the wall, idly watching me putter about. 

"I have some time. First Aid took over my shift, the clever youngling. I need to speak to you about Ironhide."

I stopped whatever I was doing and sat down on the chair. Still need to get a new one, I thought. "What's wrong with Ironhide?"

"I'm asking you."

"He's... fallen silent more than once. He wouldn't talk. I believe he has gone on long patrols."

"Ah, that's a fact. He's been away more often since you came back. The desert is big. I'm just not sure where he goes to."

"Is there something... wrong with him?"

Ratchet vented a sigh. "He _blames_ himself for hurting you, that old slag-heap. He hates himself for causing you pain. He believes that by distancing himself from you, you will be safe. Though I don't see that particular logic in the argument."

"Oh, no," I whispered. 

"When you were found injured and when we tried to save you, he was beside himself. Never heard him _scream_ like that before, not even on Cybertron."

I recalled the low moaning I'd thought I heard when I was in the state of half-awake, half-dreaming. "That was _him_?"

"He was inconsolable. Took Jazz and Prowl to talk him down at first. As a matter of fact, half of the Autobots. We had to restrain him from going berserk. Five of us piled onto him. Even Optimus had to lend a servo. I didn't hear about this, until I came out of theatre with Dr Mathisson, the surgeon whom they medevaced over to save you. We just about managed to stabilize you. You lost liters of blood. By that time, Ironhide had regained some of his senses, thank Primus. He was at your bedside while we waited for Skyfire to take you to a human trauma center."

"Oh, no."

"Since then, he's deadly afraid, as if the thought of touching you scares him. I've never seen him _frightened_."

"What can I do?"

"If you want your relationship to proceed any further? Talk to him. Work this issue out."

*

I roped in Jazz for help. 

We drove along the desert, cut through the shrubs and wound past some small ravines. I just had to look for Ironhide. The desert was big. I was hopeful I could find him. I didn't want to lose him. Not in this way. 

"Desolate, ain't it?" Jazz said. "Easy to go missing for days."

"I don't like the desert, because it can kill you in multiple ways," I scanned the landscape. More saguaro. No Ironhide. Where did he go?

"No doubt 'bout it. Harryin' off like that. Not good a' all. Dude needs to screw on his processor 'tight."

We searched for a couple of hours, until Jazz complained of sand getting to his transformation seams. He loved the desert, but hey, not that much. Nevada was enough, thank you. I was hot, dehydrated and bothered. "Let's go back," I decided in the end. 

*

"Hi, babe," I said quietly when a familiar truck pulled up. He returned early. The skies were awash with vivid orange and pink. Desert twilight was magnificent. I stared at the splashes of dirt and dried mud across the tires and the hub-caps and the _dents_ (what the hell). And dust. A patina of dust coated the metal. Ironhide was meticulous in keeping himself clean. This was unlike him. 

He went into his alt. mode, the truck suddenly breaking apart before me. Legs formed, followed by servos, the chassis remolding into the familiar chest plate, finally his helm and faceplate. "Casey," he muttered. 

"Babe, I don't want to see you like this," I cautiously walked forward. He flinched. He actually flinched. "You didn't hurt me. The explosion caught me. It was a hostile situation."

"Did Ratchet say something to you?" the old belligerence came back, just a spark of it.

"Yes, he did. And he did so, because he was also concerned for you. I love you," I placed a gentle hand on his chest plate, feeling him shudder at my touch. He pulled back with a jerk. 

"I didn't protect you. I _couldn't_ protect you. I... failed you," Ironhide said, as if through gritted teeth. 

"Beating yourself up with this isn't going to help you. It's over and done with. Let's move on."

Ironhide's face plate was suddenly in front of me. _How did he move that quickly?_ "It's not easy to just tell me to move on. I _hurt_ you. I might hurt you again," he hissed. I recoiled at his tone. So much self-loathing.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you didn't hurt me!" I slapped his face plate. It was a bad mistake, because smacking my hand on hard metal was painful, and I didn't even want to slap him. But I did. 

He started back, his optics moving rapidly. Both of us were shocked. 

"I'm sorry," I said softly. "Didn't mean to slap you."

He chuckled. "I needed that." The skies took this time to throw up more oranges and reds, before the dark blues took over. We both looked at the stars slowly emerging, spots of bright white. 

"So, truce?" I asked and leaned against him. This time, he allowed me to do so. He held me, his metal servo carefully placed on my back. 

"Truce," Ironhide murmured. 

"No more going off into the desert?"

"I will try."

"I need you. I need you whole. I love you. Please never do this again."

"Affirmative," Ironhide said. He scooped me up with his right servo. "Let's spend some time together. But first, I need to clean up."

I laughed, letting him carry me into the hangar. 

He scrubbed down in one of the wash bays. I watched all the mud and dirt swirl away into the drain. There must be a week's worth of the gunk. Or even more. I insisted on drying him up and polishing his metal plates. He vented a sigh of pleasure when I rubbed the cloth along his inner thighs, close where his peds joined. 

"I pronounce you squeaky clean," I said. 

"Not too bad," Ironhide moved his servos gingerly. He gleamed, under the lights of the wash bays. "Not too bad."

I stood back, throwing the damp cloth onto the floor. Ratchet was right. Now my hips throbbed. 

"Do I fetch you back to your lodgings?" Ironhide asked, a hint of worry in his voice. He must have seen me wincing. I had chosen not to use my crutches. 

"No, you didn't hurt me, and no, I would like to spend some time in your berth," I said.

" _Oh_."

"Let's go."


	10. Open Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is more accepting of Casey. She has a surprise... and the Decepticons also have a surprise for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't posted as regularly as I should as I was down with a viral infection for the last two weeks. Now that I have some energy back, I will be writing and posting more. 
> 
> I made a [cover](http://blackwolfchng.tumblr.com/post/157732530244/another-cover-just-for-fun) for the story for fun. Credits for the photo go to a wonderful free stock site called Pixabay. The tumblr link goes to my 'official/main' tumblr: I also write science fiction and fantasy in my other alter-ego. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and the kudos. I really appreciate them. Writing this fanfic has been so much fun. :D

I thanked Prowl for coming to our aid on that fateful day. To my surprise, he received it with grace. Even with his monotone voice, Prowl didn't sound that _bad_. 

"I am scheduling you for shooting practice," Prowl said. "If you are one of us, you have to be good in what you do."

_One of us_. Coming from Prowl, no less. 

"Thank you," I was touched. 

Prowl went back to his datapad. "Don't get sentimental with me, Lieutenant."

I was out of his hearing range when I burst out giggling. 

*

Ratchet pronounced me 'fit' when I saw him for a follow-up. My ribs and hips weren't hurting as much. I was itching to go back to 'active duty', so to speak. Already the emails from Catherine were coming fast and furious, and the documents from the Hague were ready for vetting. Sam and Mikaela were close to negotiating a pact with key UN countries. If this pact were to be signed, the Autobots could be granted sanctuary in these countries, not to mention alliances with their military who were probably eager to get their hands on Cybertronian tech. I won't deny it: I was anxious. The defunct NEST was set up to collaborate with the Autobots, a plan that sounded good on paper. The military had their greedy eyes on the Autobots' tech all the time. On one hand, they hated the Autobots for being the "mean and vicious" aliens they were. Yet, on the other, they wanted the tech. 

_Now, where do I stand? Humans or the Cybertronians?_

_Is this base just another version of NEST?_

Ironhide.

I mulled over these questions while I typed out responses to the queries from various agencies, my brain on automatic. Boring, sedate, mind-numbing desk job. 

_Lennox, you sly bastard_.

*

To my bemusement, I was summoned to Wheeljack's lab. His workplace was next to Ratchet. In fact, they often worked together, Wheeljack sometimes serving as a medic. I was simultaneously wary of him and thankful for his help in coming up with FISH, the holomatter avatar system Ironhide was currently using. Ratchet remarked to me once that for half of his inventions that failed spectacularly, some of them actually worked . The Decepticons even respected him for that. 

Therefore, I was surprised to find Ratchet standing right in the middle of Wheeljack's lab. And Wheeljack was barely standing still, capering about, running to and fro from one console to another. His lab bore the signs of his many inventions, some half-dismantled, bits strewn about. There were even test tubes and strange liquids bubbling in beakers. I knew Ratchet viewed such disorderliness with distaste. In fact, he stood there, looking as if he wanted to sweep everything out of the lab. Imagine the deluge of complaints and emails Catherine would send me if she ever caught a whiff of what Wheeljack was doing. I winced at the prospect of dealing with more paperwork and official red tape.

Something else stood right smack center: a mech-sized robot, straight out from the manga and anime I used to watch and read when I was a teenager. _Mecha_ was the first word that popped inside my head. I was too stunned for words. 

"Tadah!" Wheeljack exclaimed excitedly like an used car salesman. "You _like?_ "

A closer inspection revealed more details. It was painted chrome silver or was already made of chrome silver. Roughly humanoid, the front chest plate open to show a small human-size cavity. _My size_ , I realized. _Somebody has been doing their homework_. it looked vaguely Autobot-ish, complete with servos and peds. 

"Activation of this," Wheeljack pressed something on his datapad and the robot ... suit reached down, retrieving a gun longer than me. It resembled my Beretta. No wait, it was my Beretta magnified. "It's going to pack a punch in a fight."

"Hang on," I interrupted his spiel. "Am I supposed to go _in_ there?"

I felt Wheeljack grin. "Yes! This is our surprise."

"Surprise?!" 

"Ratchet and I," Wheeljack bowed.

"Now, now, don't drag me into this," Ratchet said dryly. "I only _helped_ you when it came to anatomical specifications."

"Oh, c'mon, Ratchet, don't be modest," Wheeljack drawled. The front chest plate had two bumps on it. 

"Are those supposed to be breasts? Or at least, the contours of breasts?" I pointed out.

"But you are femme, aren't you?" Wheeljack scratched his helm. 

"I am... " I said. "Ugh, that's not the point. Does Optimus know about this? Ironhide?"

Ratchet was chuckling now. "I _told_ you she would ask questions."

"Optimus would know sooner or later. As for Ironhide, no. Well, not yet, anyway."

"Fantastic," I went up to the machine, frustration warring with curiosity. Curiosity won. Up close, it really looked like _mecha_. "So, how am I going to pilot it? With giggles?" I climbed into the seat, noting that Wheeljack had installed leather for the back rest and cushion. Even safety belts. That must be Ratchet's idea. 

"Oh, no, no. You sit in there, just right there. Your servos will control the servos, your peds the peds -"

"Her _hands_ will control the servos, her _feet_ the peds," corrected Ratchet. 

"Right! You use your hands to move the servos. Squeeze your hands into fists. See, the servos mimic your movement. Can you move your feet? There you go." 

I flexed my fingers, watching the servo hands do the same. The interior of the robot was all metal, but strangely comfortable, as if it had been molded to my contours. It smelled of engine oil and probably other things I didn't think I wanted to ask the Autobot engineer. 

The military would be crawling over this if they knew. 

"Your thoughts will activate your suit."

"So, it's thought-activated?" 

Wheeljack nodded eagerly. Too eagerly, I thought privately. The robot stirred into life immediately, the blinking of lights and murmuring sounds. It was that responsive. 

"So, would this help me in actual combat?" I clambered down from the robot suit. "Tell me more."

*

Ironhide waited for me outside the hangar. I'd promised him to go to Kum Loong in the evening.

My arms and legs aching from moving the limbs of the robot suit, I walked out slowly. There was still light. Back in his lab, Wheeljack was happily tweaking the suit. 

"Wheeljack built me a suit," I told Ironhide upfront. 

He rocked back on his peds and vented air, his version of snorting in disbelief. "May wonders never cease. Does it work?"

"It does, _somewhat_."

"Well, it's the thought that counts," Ironhide said, changing to his truck form. "Climb in."

*

The trip to Kum Loong was something we'd planned for quite some time now. Along the way, we talked while the landscape undulated from desert to small town. 

"Where did your sire and carrier come from?" his voice reverberated. 'Curt' was driving. The hologram's mouth moved, but Ironhide's voice came from everywhere. "I mean, your parents," he elaborated. At times, his Cybertronianisms slipped through. I didn't stop nor correct him. 

"They were born here. My grandparents came from China. Well, Southern China. Guangdong. They arrived just at the end of the gold rush and settled down."

"Why did they settle here?" Ironhide continued. It was early evening. The small town was filling up with people going out for supper. I admired the couples and the groups of people walking down main street. Longing was a soft ache in my heart. Everything I saw was so normal, so ordinary.

"They escaped from war and famine, apparently. Clan wars that destroyed villages. Many fled. Thousands migrated to Southeast Asia. Mine were drawn to America. They wanted to have better lives, away from the war and starvation. No more war. No more hunger. No more pain. They became immigrants."

"I see. We are like you. We fled Cybertron. Earth seems to be a more peaceful option, though I would say the Decepticons brought the war along with them."

"We still have relatives spread across the world, mostly in Singapore and Malaysia. The Chinese diaspora. I could go on and on about this."

Ironhide chuckled. "Have you gone back to your homeland?"

"I haven't. My parents visited Guangdong a couple of years back to see their ancestral villages. That's about it. A lot of China we learnt are from our grandparents, books and TV. China's so big it's hard to describe the country and its people.

"Do you miss your homeland?" Ironhide's voice was wistful. 

"It's hard to say. I hear about Chinese New Year and other festivals and wonder why our celebrations are so muted, while in China, it's such a big deal, national holidays and all. I don't really miss Guangdong or even China, because I was born here. Yet, I feel there's something missing. A disconnection. It's like somebody's talking to me and I catch only bits and pieces of it."

"We weren't really welcomed with 'open arms', as you would say, when we first landed here. Humanity's not that different from Cybertronians."

"There are people here who hate our skin color, for who we are and what we do. In their eyes, we're the aliens. They want us to "go back to China". We can't. We don't really know much or even care about China. A lot of us, the younger ones, we're torn in between."

"Ah," Ironhide remarked. I had a feeling that he was at loss for words. "We're here. Let me park here." He deftly slid in between two other vehicles. Kum Loong's golden dragon sign with WEEKEND BUFFET DINNER (BYO) scrawled on the glass window greeted us when we exited the truck. 'Curt' smiled. He reached out and held my right hand. The contact with the almost-skin jolted me. I had almost forgot how real it felt.

It was a full house with tables of Chinese enjoying their food. I noted Kum Loong also served dim sum on Sunday mornings. Now it was my turn to be wistful. We walked toward the counter where there was a line of people waiting to order their takeaways. The man behind the counter wore a paper cap like a fast food joint server. He had a white apron on, smudged with oily hand prints. A row of roast ducks hung next to the counter. Occasionally, he would yell at the cook chopping up roast duck bits in Cantonese before smiling profusely at the customers ordering food.

When it was our turn, he took one look at "Curt" and then at me. A knowing smile spread across his face. 

"That's your girlfriend?" he asked Ironhide. "Ah, pretty girl. You're a happy man."

"Yes, I am, sir," Ironside said, sounding like his ex-soldier persona. 

"Excellent, excellent. Your usual?"

"Yes, the usual."

The order, nicely packed in a box with the golden dragon, arrived in five minutes. The man tucked two pairs of wooden chopsticks into the paper bag, winked at me, and took our payment. Where the money came from and how it stayed in 'Curt's' 'wallet' was beyond me. The dollar bills were real.

The man waved to us good-naturedly before he went back to rapid-fire Cantonese to his cooks. We walked out as quickly as we could. 

"That's Mr Foong, the owner of the restaurant. He's friendly," Ironhide said, 'unlocking' his side of the truck. 

"Where do you get the money? How do you ever keep it when you are... this?" I was laughing. 

"Well, Jazz helped. Those are real dollar bills. Wheeljack made special adjustments."

"I hope you didn't rob a bank or something."

Ironhide shook his head, not understanding the joke. "Lennox and Sam taught us about Earth currencies. We have our own... stash."

"Stash?" I coughed. "Oh, come on!"

"Do you find it disagreeable?" Ironhide started his engines. "Is 'stash' the wrong word to use?"

"No, no, I just found it odd, that's all," I clambered up into the passenger. The paper bag was warm on my lap. "Thank you though. Now I know how you buy all the chow mein."

I was glad to hear his answering laugh. By then, he had pulled out of the parking space. We were headed back to the base. The traffic was semi-heavy, since it was Friday night. I leaned back, gazing at the throngs of people. The sliver of moon was bright in the dusk sky. I spied a police car behind us. As we moved swiftly down the street, the police car followed us. At first, I thought it was just obeying traffic rules and would soon turn at the next junction. It clung on like a persistent barnacle. Was it trailing us? _Stalking_ us?

Ironhide seemed to have caught my disquiet. I heard him swear in Cybertronian. 

"What's wrong, Ironhide?" Now his disquiet was just bad as mine. He had increased his speed, weaving in and out of traffic to dislodge the police car.

"Decepticon," Ironhide said simply. "The slag-heap's name is Barricade. Buckle up, sweet heart."

I did so, hating the in-rush of all the bad memories associated with the Decepticons. It had been such a nice evening. My hips throbbed with remembered pain.

"Jazz," I heard Ironhide make contact with the base. "We have company. Barricade."

"Copy, Ironhide," Jazz's voice was calm. "We are on our way. Is Casey with you?"

"Affirmative."

"I will give you the coordinates," Jazz said. A stream of Cybertronian followed: a series of high pitched clicks and beeps. 

"Acknowledged."

"Oh yeah, permission to use the suit," Wheeljack's voice interjected.

"Permission granted," Jazz said dryly with a hint of amusement. "Let's kick some 'Con butt, shall we?" The line went silent. 

"You alright?" Ironhide said. Barricade was still keeping up with us. Now we had filtered out of the main traffic and moving with purpose towards the border where town bled into desert. 

I inhaled deeply. "I'm alright."


	11. Astra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fight in the desert. Casey finds her inner Autobot.

With an inchoate roar, Barricade came at us.

When night finally descended, all subtlety went out of the window. Barricade skidded off the dark dirt road, transforming as he spun. An extremely calm part of me thought he was simply _showing off_. Landing on his peds, he was all feral gracefulness. 

Ironhide backed off, revving his engines. Where the hell were Jazz and co? Barricade strode towards us hungrily. Were all Decepticons that feral? Even as we watched, two more Decepticons joined him. It was a hunt and we were being boxed in. 

"Brawl and Onslaught," Ironhide's growl brimmed with hatred. "If these are here, the rest are not far behind. _Jazz?_ "

No answer. Onslaught was huge, larger than Ironhide, if there was even possible. 

"So, we're down to brute force now, eh?" Ironhide observed. "Stay inside, Casey."

"Why can't you fight, Autobot fool?" the one called Brawl taunted. "You have a _human_ inside you. Are you...protecting _her_?"

He said 'human' with such distaste that it occurred to me: They saw humans as pests. Vermin. He also sniffed the air, like a mammalian predator sensing prey. 

"Do you want to _mate_ with her?" Barricade took up the taunting. "Tsk tsk tsk, how scandalous. You know that we don't mate with organics."

Ironhide's growl deepened. I stroked his dashboard. "Calm down. They're provoking us. Don't fall for their trap."

"Oh, poor Autobot's lonely," Brawl now. "Looking for comfort in a human _female_."

"Don't!" I cautioned Ironhide. 

"Hey, human female, _look_ at us," Onslaught pointed at his chest plate. "Why don't you go for us? We're _bigger_ and _stronger_ , our interface rods..."

Now this descended to the level of crude. It was driving Ironhide nuts. I was sweating so much the leather seat had turned rubbery. 

" _I AM GOING TO TEACH YOU A LESSON!_ " Ironhide howled. 

"Ironhide, DON'T!" I shouted. 

"Sorry, we're late!" Jazz's car form landed right in front of us in an explosion of desert sand and shrubs. He morphed fluidly into his bipedal form, posing cockily. "Not sorry for gate-crashing your party!"

Prowl, Sunswipe and Sunstreaker appeared, flanking us. Right behind them was Wheeljack and...

"On my mark," Ironhide hissed. "You _run_. The rest of us will provide you the cover."

I nodded. 

"NOW!"

The passenger door banged open and I got out. Without looking back, I headed for Wheeljack. 

"Get in," Wheeljack said, now in his bipedal war form as well. "Remember. It's thought-activated and..."

"I KNOW, WHEELJACK!" I climbed into the pilot seat. The suit activated, sealing me in. The control panels shimmered before me. My vision was crystal-clear, as if I was looking at the battle itself. Night-vision too. Well done, Wheeljack. 

"I hope it works!" Wheeljack said, aiming his weapon. The battle was now a scrum with Ironhide going for Onslaught while the Autobots tussled with Brawl and Barricade, the twins running circles around Barricade. 

_It bloody hell must!_ I 'opened' the leg holster, as Wheeljack had put it, and the gun popped out. I lifted it up just as I would with my Beretta with my hands/servos. I sighted one of my targets: Onslaught. He was moving so quickly I couldn't get a decent fix on him. He was smashing his fist into Ironhide's jaw; Ironhide roared, jerking back violently. Was he in pain? Breathe, Casey, breathe. There, I got Onslaught in my sights. Without further thought, I fired. The recoil was just as bad as I'd remembered, travelling up my arms painfully. 

I didn't see the bullet hit Onslaught, but I saw its effect on him. He fell back, cursing, at the bright bang and explosion on his helm. 

"I made some modifications," Wheeljack said excitedly. He started firing his weapon at Onslaught. 

"You turned them into explosives?!" I cried and sighted Onslaught again. I squeezed the trigger. Onslaught's faceplate looked as if it had been smacked by a violent fist. Then he saw me. He began to turn towards me, murder in his optics. Ironhide saw the chance and body-checked him like a NFL linebacker. Onslaught flew, toppling over, before Ironhide descended on him with his fists. Sparks blossomed where Ironhide's vicious punches landed on the Decepticon's face.

"Retreat!"

Limping, Barricade somehow managed to change back to his police car form. Brawl shrugged off the twins disdainfully, turning into a tank. Jazz and Prowl continued to harry him. I fired one more shot at Brawl's tracks, causing him to lose traction. 

"Retreat, you idiots!"

Onslaught stumbled out, his faceplate dented and twisted. He groaned as he turned back into a truck. One more shot from my suit's gun - and his left optic disappeared in a blaze of orange light. He screamed, an unholy mixing of tearing metal and sound. 

The three Decepticons pulled out as quickly as their damaged bodies permitted them. I remained in my suit, my gun still pointed at the retreating vehicles. My adrenaline was up. My blood was up. Everything felt muffled, as if my ears were stuffed with cotton wool. 

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Ironhide's voice was a drill sergeant's parade square bark. "Stand down," his tone softened. "It's over."

God, half of his face was dented. He leaked oil. But he was _alive_. Ratchet would definitely be bitching to us later. The twins milled around us like excitable puppies. Prowl and Jazz trudged back to where we stood. They also bore damage on their bodies. 

"You did well, Lieutenant," Prowl said. "So this was the suit you were talking about, Wheeljack?"

"Yes, sir!" 

"Please update Optimus with this new development. Secure the perimeters, the rest of you. The Constructicons might be close by," Prowl nodded curtly. He walked off without a word, Jazz walking beside him. The twins followed suit.

"Ironhide watched when I came out from the suit, Wheeljack barely restraining his joy as if he had just won the first place in a junior high science fair. I had dark oil streaks all over my t-shirt.

"The chow mein is all gone," Ironhide commented, amused.

"We can get it another day. Better still, I will _make_ it." I gazed back at the suit. The face plate was vaguely feminine with the suggestions of high cheekbones. Above us the Milky Way spun. The desert was still. The grandeur reminded me that we were insignificant in this vast universe.

"Ever thought of a name, an Autobot name?" Ironhide asked as he slowly turned back to his truck form. He was evidently experiencing some discomfort. Wheeljack was carefully retrieving the suit, towing it with all the tenderness of a mother. 

The stars shone down. I was caught in their splendor.

I smiled. 

"Astra."


	12. Some Sweet Loving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two celebrate Mid-Autumn Festival. 
> 
> 1st Warning: have hot tea and mooncakes.
> 
> 2nd warning: NSFW.

True to his word, Prowl scheduled me for training at the shooting range, something fortunately the former base had on its grounds. Like clockwise, every evening at 5, I would be at the shooting range. Sometimes Prowl would supervise, sometimes Ironhide. 

Prowl also had me down for practice using the suit, "so that you would be more familiar with its controls". In between practice sessions, Wheeljack made more adjustments and reduced the rate of swaying of the chassis. As for me, I wore an old army jumpsuit for the practice sessions. No use getting more oil stains over all my shirts. The best part of practice was when we trained in the desert land next to the base. I was glad that nobody was around to watch, except for the many saguaro and a few snakes. The road was only used by very occasional traffic: a lone car or truck. Then, when practice was done, I would watch the full moon rise with Ironhide. 

Mom called to remind me about Mid-Autumn Festival and went on to discuss the mooncakes she found at the local Asian grocer. I had almost forgotten about it. A quick visit to the town's small grocer found small mooncakes, their crusts a light-brown with the promise of white lotus paste as advertised on the box. Paper lanterns, the type you hang during birthday parties. 

I was also very horny. I craved Ironhide's touch. 

*

The apartment needed cleaning. On the day itself, which fortunately fell on a Saturday, I opened the windows, removed all the sheets and blankets, did my laundry, and attacked the sink with glove and brush. I swept the floor and proceeded to mop it. When evening finally arrived, I collapsed on the make-shift sofa. The tell-tale rumble of a truck in reverse alerted me that my date had showed up. 

Three knocks on the door - and Ironhide stood in front of me. I was still in my t-shirt and shorts and I hadn't had a shower yet. 

"Am I too early?" he asked. Earlier he had asked Wheeljack to make his holomatter avatar more stable, which the Autobot engineer promptly did.

"No, no, you are on time," I stared up into his eyes. "I don't suppose you want a drink." It was lame and he knew it straightaway, chuckling. My hand caressed his face, memorizing the curve of the jawline. Suddenly his mouth was on mine. Hologram or not, he felt real. Very real. His hands gently removed my t-shirt, his fingers brushing, stroking and teasing my bare skin. I moaned, when his thumb rubbed against my pubic mound, glancing across the thin fabric. I pulled the shorts off without further prompting.

"I don't suppose I have to remove your clothes too," I husked.

His t-shirt and jeans simply faded off. _Gee, thanks, Wheeljack_. Now he stood in his glorious birthday suit. I stared. Whatever mods Wheeljack had given Ironhide, he was now built quite generously in that area. I began to giggle. 

"Why?" Ironhide glanced at his 'body' with an alarmed look on his face. 

I wiped off tears of laughter from my eyes. "You have to thank Wheeljack for his adjustments."

"Oh," Ironhide muttered. He gathered me into his arms, his mouth muzzling my neck. I melted, my body screaming for more, for release. I was making love to a hologram, his _avatar_ , but I didn't care. I placed a hand on his broad chest and felt a distinct warmth, like a banked sun, beneath the skin. 

He was already erect. "Oh, oh, OH!" he gasped, as if startled by this new development. 

"You have to get inside me first," I said before breaking away from him to find the condom packs I kept in the apartment _just in case_. I found them in the drawer next to my bed, tore one out and trotted back to Ironhide who had been surprisingly very patient. Not sure about Cybertronian hologram penises - but I wasn't going to take any chance. The condom was a translucent pink. Stifling the urge to giggle, I stretched it out. Condom on a holographic penis. A world first. Ironhide watched my actions, even gasping at the feel of the plastic. I guided him in gently. The tip felt hard enough, warm and firm. I relaxed, moaning softly with the feeling of fullness. _That's still a goddamned hologram!_ a part of me thought before I lost myself in the moment.

Ironhide's eyes shone as he looked at me in wonder. I encouraged him, stroking his chest, wriggling my hips. He didn't need more prompting. His thrusts were tentative at first, as if he were listening to and gauging my cues, before picking up speed and force. The edge of the kitchen counter pressed hard into my back. I shifted a little, crying out when he lifted me gently onto the counters. I wrapped my legs around his waist, anchoring myself. My head tilted back. I gave in to the pleasure.

His thrusting was more frantic now, his cries emphatic. I was riding on the crest of ecstasy, fast reaching release. I dug my fingers into his chest and felt an electric jolt course through me. My heart began to beat, slowly at first before it started to beat at the same beat with Ironhide's. My eyes widened as the electric jolt seemed to consume both of us. My nerve ends were sizzling. I arched my back as the sensation intensified. It seemed that glowing light filtered through us. But it might have been rays of the setting sun...

"Ironhide! _Ironhide!_ " I groaned, tightening my legs around him. He thrust deep inside me. A liquid warmth pulsed through me. _Is the condom even working?_ The thought was a few heart-beats-brief as the orgasm seized me hard. I sobbed aloud, holding onto him as we both rode the crashing waves out, our bodies rocking in rhythm together. He kissed me on the forehead, a brush of dry lips on skin. His own body glistened as if with perspiration. _Can holograms even sweat?_ He carried me carefully to the bed, before shimmering into nothing, his energy spent and the duration as hologram over. I was looking at sparkling dust motes once more. I lay in bed for a while, luxuriating in the afterglow. 

Quietly, I removed the condom off the floor, expecting it to glow like a neon stick. It didn't. 

While I showered, Ironhide waited outside, back in his truck form. I wore a clean pair of jeans and my favorite woolen jumper, bringing out hot jasmine tea, the lanterns and a plate of mooncakes. The desert was suddenly chilly. Yet the moon was already up in the sky, round and full like a giant white jade plate. It was so close that I could see its dark seas and craters. I lit one or two orange lanterns and hung them at the wall of the dingy apartment block, laughing as Ironhide's morphing to his bipedal form caused the lanterns to flicker. I poured tea for him, even though I knew he couldn't drink. He stared curiously at the tiny paper cup as he picked it up with his digits.

Words didn't seem to matter. We sat watching the moon and the streaks of falling stars. The desert came alive, shimmering like a silver sea under the white glow of the satellite. 

"Thank you," Ironhide whispered as I curled up beside him, skin against chrome metal. That night, I saw the little girl again, carrying a rabbit-shaped lantern. The dream's sweetness lingered when I woke up the next day.


	13. Hard Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey trains with the Autobots and are confronted with hard questions.

"Don't be a sitting duck!" Jazz barked over the com. "Run!"

The high desert air was making me wheeze, even though I was in the suit running for my life, the chrome peds hitting every hard corner. I felt every impact as if my own legs were running on uneven desert ground. I remembered my basic military training which was just as bad and twice as nasty. Except the sarge yelling in my ear wasn't some veteran dude with a crew cut. Jazz was making the sarge look bad. 

_Incoming missiles_ , the suit informed me via the neural link. They registered as fast approaching blips in front of me. I dodged as fast as I could. The missiles - blanks, I hope - exploded next to me, the rock face crumbling in a miniature landslide. I had to dodge that one too, forcing to tuck and roll away. When I got up, having managed to right myself, more heat signatures appeared. They were humanoid. Big humanoids. 

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe came into view. They were Decepticons for today's exercise. The twins hooted and began to harass me at both sides. Damn, it was hard, because they were my friends. But ...

I lashed out with my right leg, catching Sideswipe right where his abdominal plate was. He fell to one side, while his brother increased his attack, yelling in Cybertronian swear words. Still keeping an eye on the recovering Sideswipe, I ducked and kicked Sunstreaker in the face. He shouted, his faceplate slightly dented, retreating a little. 

A larger humanoid-shaped blip loomed before me. I knew that shape anywhere. Ironhide. 

_Prowl, you sick ---_

Before I could respond, Ironhide picked me up by the neck and hurled me as if I was just a toy. The impact jarred my senses and I swear my hips were screaming out in pain. Plus other parts of my body were protesting. Worse, I could have bruising. Panting, I forced myself to roll back onto my feet, while my lover barreled towards me like a bull with too much testosterone. I went for the offensive. I bulleted straight into him. I heard his grunt as he absorbed the impact and he pushed back _hard_. My peds dug in for traction. I cursed in Cantonese when his fist crashed into my head. Astra rang like a church bell. 

"HOLD!" Ironhide snarled. 

My head hurt, but at least the insane pressure was off. I backed away, still wary that it might just be a goddamned trick. 

"You...okay?" Ironhide's voice was tender, contrite. 

I realized that the exercise was over. I powered down the suit, opening the front. I was never so _glad_ for fresh air. 

"I think I will have some major bruising," I groused. "But I'm ... okay. Prowl's some sick sonofabitch."

"He calls it 'training'," Ironhide reached out to help me out of the suit. I waved him away, still smarting with the keen edge of defeat. He pulled his servo back, looking at me somewhat mournfully."I stopped, because I was afraid I hurt you."

"Ugh," I muttered, rubbing my hips. Ratchet was going to kick up a fuss about this. "What if it's a real _war_ , Ironhide - and I have no choice but to kill you? What if that happens?"

Ironhide stiffened, the words hitting home. I shut my mouth, refusing to continue any further. By this time, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had trudged up to us, Sunstreaker still annoyed with the lucky hit on his faceplate. Behind them was Jazz. He emanated _glee_. If he had a face, it would have the biggest shit-eating grin ever. 

"Well done," Jazz said. "Looks like you 'aid in a few. Kicked a few sorry asses." Sunstreaker and Sideswipe rolled their optics, shaking their helms.

Ironhide was silent on the way back to the base.


	14. The Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you are forced to shoot your lover.

Sam and Mikaela announced that they had signed the treaty granting sanctuary with key UN members. It was a moment of celebration for all. Optimus Prime declared how relieved he'd felt. Most of the Autobots were jubilant. The base hummed with triumph for days. As attaché, I did the expected procedure of informing the relevant government agencies, though no doubt they all did pay close attention to the signing. It was broadcast on TV, Sam in a proper suit and tie, signing the treaty with senior diplomats and ministers. Camera flashlights going off, practiced smiles on faces, the requisite handshakes. An Autobot was present as witness. The cameras managed only to capture half of his giant servos and peds. 

Because of the very public display on TV, Prowl raised the alert to Code Red. Protests were erupting in major cities across the globe. Many seemed very resistant to the Autobots. Yet, there were counter-protests held to show that people were open to the Autobots' presence. "Diversity Now!" and "OPEN OUR HEARTS!" placards and chants warred with "Autobots OUT!" and "Go away!" banners. 

The base remained safe, for now.

*

Optimus took half of his trusted brass on patrol, including Elitia who joined us after a stint in Germany escorting Sam and Mikaela on their embassy visits. With the exception of Ratchet, I was the only human and organic left alone in the base. I had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. The Beretta in the holster did nothing to reassure me. Worse, the flashbacks haunted me. I only gritted my teeth and stared at my emails, focusing on my breathing just as Ratchet and my counselors had taught me. Catherine's emails were increasingly erratic and bizarre. Happy and confident in one email, followed by an angry, almost raging accusation a few minutes later. That wasn't Catherine's style. She was often by the book, like Prowl. Like any law-abiding civil servant. Even when I agreed with her approach at times, she wasn't a bully by any means. 

A glint of chrome alerted me to new arrivals. Thinking that the patrol had returned, I stepped out of the office, my hand on the Beretta. It was only a blue beat-up Buick driving in as if it belonged. The car screeched to a halt right in front of the hangar. The driver stepped out. 

I recognized her right off. _Catherine Schumann_. My supervisor, dropping in unannounced and surely not following protocol. There wasn't any email or call from her. What the hell? Her long blonde hair hung above her shoulders. A sensible blue pant suit. Even her court shoes were a light blue. From what I knew about her, she was in her early 50s. Her drawn face looked composed, the make-up just so, very sedate, nothing garish. Typical no-nonsense civil servant. As she walked, she reached up with her hands, pulling at the skin of her jawline. Vanity? Sagging skin?

Something didn't feel right. 

"Casey Wong," she said. Her voice didn't sound right either. I had heard it over the phone before. It was nasal, but not unpleasant. She now spoke with a noticeable whine. She also pronounced my name as if they were unnatural to her tongue. I had encountered officers and army personnel who refused to pronounce my name correctly before. This wasn't a case of racism. 

Before my very eyes, Catherine Schumann came apart. 

She broke into many pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle, as if different parts of her face and body had to fit in a very precise manner. The pant suit simply tore as her true form emerged, chrome tendrils ending in very sharp-looking blades. She...it... kicked the shoes aside with disdain. 

_Decepticon_.

"I will finish what the fool Barricade has begun," it had a silver glaring skull. As I watched, Beretta in hand, the jaws parted to reveal a disturbingly organic-looking black tongue. It licked its lips hungrily. "All hail Megatron."

I squeezed the trigger. 

The bullet hit the thing right in the middle of the skull. It made a crater, splattering on metal that seemed fluid. The gaping hole began to reform even as the thing stalked towards me. I fired again, this time hitting the midriff which was all metal ridges. Not remotely human. 

Two things happened simultaneously as I was about to fire the third time. 

Ratchet burst in, guns blazing. 

Ironhide transformed from trunk to biped form.

The thing nimbly dodged the impacts Ratchet's cannons were making, weaving in and out, the tendrils lashing. It spotted Ironhide and a horrible sound came from its lips. It was laughing, a metallic screeching that pierced my ear drums and forced me to duck down in agony. One of the tendrils held a black rod. 

Ironhide _crashed_. He fell onto his knees, clutching his helm with his servos in pain. I heard him grunting and crying out as he was obviously trying to resist something inside him. The black rod was messing with his head. 

"Die, you bitch," I screamed. My relief at him appearing just in time vanished. I fired my gun. It didn't work. The black rod remained firmly grasped in the tendril. The thing's laughter filled the hangar. Ratchet roared and launched himself furiously at it. 

Ironhide... Ironhide dropped his servos, shaking his helm vigorously. When he turned to face me, murder was in his optics. They gleamed a bright blood-red. His mouthplate opened to emit an animalistic growl. In a burst of speed, he lunged towards me, huffing like an enraged silverback gorilla. My words had come true. It was war and I had to kill him.

"Ironhide, fight it!" I tried reason. Reasoning might work. I hoped my voice would bring him back. 

He growled, grabbing the Buick. I ducked the moment he hurled the car at me. Blue metal screamd above my head. It hit the floor with an awful screeching, like the thing's laughter. I caught a glimpse of Ratchet smashing his fist into the thing's face... before Ironhide came at me again, his servos thumping the chest plate in a clear display of threat. He meant physical violence. Real physical violence. Ironhide simply wasn't Ironhide anymore. 

He wanted me to die. 

"Ironhide, listen," I shouted. "It's me. Casey. Fight it. Fight the mind control or what it is!" I headed towards Wheeljack's lab. I got to reach Astra as soon as possible. I could feel his hot breathe behind me, the snorting of some beast.

I wanted him to live. 

"Hail... Megatron," he was muttering. "Hail Megatron. Organics must die."

My skin crawled to hear his voice speaking such vile things. I stumbled into Wheeljack's lab, scrambled towards Astra. Fuck the wires and cords, this was an emergency. I felt a large hand make a grab for my legs. I screamed, tucking and rolling away. My action only brought me closer to Astra. C'mon, c'mon!

Suddenly Astra was in front of me. I clambered in, sealing myself as fast as possible. Ironhide loomed right in front of me, his optics blazing bright crimson. He was about to grab me as he did before. But that was practice and he was Ironhide then... Not this mind-controlled beast. 

My fist crashed into his faceplate. Ironhide's roar echoed in the lab. 

"Ironhide, please," I pleaded even as I backed away, yanking off the cords. Fully-charged. My relief was short-lived as a giant fist crashed against my head. I cursed. It fucking hurt. "Ironhide!" He began to hit me as if I was some punching bag. I weathered the blows, half-glad that Astra was strong enough to endure them. 

Why wasn't I fighting back? 

I prayed that a fragment of the Ironhide I knew was still inside. 

"Fight it! You are an Autobot!" I was being forced back. Soon I would probably be pummeled to death. 

"Hail Megatron!" Ironhide spat at me. The optics rolled, fizzled blue. "Casey?" 

"Fight it!" 

"It's..." Ironhide groaned and the optics turned red again. "Hail Megatron! Die, organic!"

I grabbed the gun and aimed it at Ironhide. "Don't make me shoot you."

Yet reason seemed to have left Ironhide. He rushed at me...

... and I fired the gun.


	15. The Kindness In His Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey has to do what she has to do.

The bullet smashed into Ironhide's right ped. He lost his footing momentarily before recovering very quickly with a spurt of increased speed. This time, he loped towards me on all fours. The ground shook. I hit him once more, a shot on his chest. I heard glass splinter and metal scream. 

Like an animal, he leapt.

I fired one last shot. 

The explosion smacked him squarely in the head. I swear I saw bits of metal and optics spinning in the air. He actually let out an "oof" before crashing backwards, his head hitting the ground first. The sound of metal hitting hard concrete tore at my heart. I still held the gun, ready to shoot. 

Ironhide was struggling to rise, his servos and peds kicking out. There was a gaping hole in the center of his chest now. As I watched, terrified and shocked at what I had done, dark smoke drifted from the hole. His movements were growing weaker and weaker.

I flung myself out of Astra and ran towards him, unable to breathe and blind with tears. 

"No, no, no, Ironhide," I was sobbing. "Stay with me. No, no, no... please don't..."

His head slowly turned towards me. The only remaining optic on the right was no longer the hateful red. It was blue. Autobot blue. Ironhide blue. 

"Casey," Ironhide rumbled, his voice so much softer than the usual boom. His right digits flexed, making a futile grab for me, before the entire servo lost power, becoming limp. 

"I am so sorry," I only could say. I felt the Autobots gather at the door, respectful, mourning. Everything seemed to slow down. I saw Optimus Prime's mouth moving, as if he was saying something. Elitia starting towards me. Yet I heard nothing, felt nothing... I could only hear Ironhide's breathing. 

It was fading fast. 

Then Ratchet pulled me away, firmly and gently. 

*

They worked on Ironhide the entire night. 

I curled up outside Ratchet's med-lab. Elitia sat down beside me to keep me company. I hardly acknowledged her presence. 

When Ratchet finally walked out, rubbing his hands with a cloth, I sat up, jolted awake. Elitia had left hours before. The tears flowed unbidden down my face. 

"He lives," Ratchet said, a hint of fatigue in his calm voice. "Worry not, Casey."

I burst out crying at the _kindness_ in his words. "I almost killed him..."

"You did what you did: to defend yourself. He's stabilized now. Go sleep. "

"No..."

"We terminated the pretender and saved Ironhide's life. Go rest, Casey. Please, for my sake."

"Can I see him?" 

Ratchet nodded, letting me in. The sight before me ripped my heart apart. They had stuck all sorts of cords inside Ironhide. Thick wires snaked in and out of the large crater in his chestplate. I could hear his breathing. It was soft, ragged, but at least, it was there. 

"Is it okay if I sit beside him, as he did... for me the last time?" I whispered.

First Aid found a human-sized chair and placed it next to the resus-berth. I thanked him before I sat down for the vigil, my hand never letting go of Ironhide's digits.

*

When he first regained consciousness, my heart leapt. The familiar blue optics blinked confusedly at me.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?!"

_He couldn't remember me_. 

After saying those words, he offlined again.

*  
I had dozed off when I felt a gentle touch on my arm. Opening my eyes, I saw Ironhide awake. 

"Casey?" 

"Am here, babe," I said.

"Where am I?"

"Med-lab. They had to resuscitate you. I..."

"You did what you needed to do," Ironhide coughed weakly and clutched his chestplate as if in agony. First Aid hurried in, closely followed by Ratchet. The beeps on the machines began to sound frantic. Ratchet rattled off something in Cybertronian, but the gist seemed to be _Save him!_ After years of nursing, I knew that tone anywhere. He was dying. 

First Aid led me out. I fought him, kicking and beating his peds. "Can I stay? Can I watch? Let me stay!"

First Aid hesitated, clearly struggling with the right thing to do and the training ingrained in him. He bloody well knew I was a nurse. "You have to leave," he finally blurted out and shut the door in my face. I howled, pounding at the steel door. I cursed, I screamed, I sobbed. Still the door remained close. I sank to my haunches, my chest aching with the sobbing. And still the door remained shut.

Until, finally, after an eternity, the door slid open, letting out the odors of oil, ozone and steel. Ratchet carefully raised me to my feet. 

"He's a stubborn slagheap," Ratchet said finally. "And I know he won't just offline on us."

Hope blossomed. My spirits lifted... I almost soared.

"Don't hug me just yet. It's still touch-and-go. We are keeping him under observation for two cycles. If he passes this phase without any glitch, there's some fighting chance."

"I love you, Ratchet," I still hugged the gruff old physician anyway. 

"Tell it to him, not me," there was a smile in Ratchet's voice.


	16. Recovery (Redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide recovers but feels that he's not as strong as he is. Getting old, getting old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not posting as much as I could. Life intervened with a multitude of health woes, culminating with a CT scan and now a nerve-wracking wait for the results. 
> 
> Nice things are greatly welcomed. :D

" _Frag_ it!"

Ironhide slammed his fist into the med-lab's wall. His peds were still weakened from the induced coma and injuries. The frustration had been building up until it spilled over today, when his joints gave and he wasn't able to walk as well as he thought he could. 

It had indeed been touch-and-go. He lived past that vital milestone as Ratchet had predicted and slowly regained back his strength. With his condition better, Ratchet and First Aid could then perform the necessary surgery procedure on him, knowing that he won't offline on them in the middle of the operation. His chestplate was sealed and fixed back with new chrome parts, the internal wiring re-woven by Ratchet's precise engineering. New optics too. The operation went on about six Earth hours. I was a nervous wreck by the end of it. Fortunately, Prowl kept me company for the first three hours, followed by Jazz. 

Ironhide's friends paid him visits when he was out of danger and recovering under Ratchet's strict watch. Prowl and Jazz walked in together. The twins left small gifts of earth rock. Bumblebee stayed the longest, talking softly in stuttering Cybertronian and Earth words while Ironhide was still pretty knocked out. Optimus sat beside Ironhide, watching over him while Ratchet appraised him of the situation. Practically _all_ the Autobots in the base dropped by. Ironhide was that well-loved and respected. Yet when everyone was gone, Ratchet was the one who sat beside the berth, his eyes on the data slate, still alert to the soft murmurs of the machines. He was the one who had to force Ironhide to consume energon. Ironhide had been so weak that he even refused energon. 

"You have to _eat_ ," I heard Ratchet speak furiously to Ironhide. "Before I _wrench_ your faceplate open."

Ironhide's response was a faint chuckle. But the day after, he started to take energon again, much to Ratchet's and my relief. 

I had to pull myself away from the med-lab to deal with the fall-out after the pretender incident. The real Catherine Schumann was found many months dead and decayed in her apartment, an apparent victim of murder. Her chest had been pierced through very finely by a type of blade weapon and she died instantly. I grieved for her death. It was so unfair, being used as a pawn in an intergalactic war. Such deaths, according to Mom, could turn the victims into _ye gwai_ , wild ghosts cursed to wander the world, forever lost and hungry. Did Catherine have a proper burial? Did her kin take care of her worldly possessions? Did she even have kin? It was scary to know that we didn't know much about the people we worked with, our colleagues and even our friends. The pretender who took her face and life had access to national and international security documents. Suddenly people were panicking. At the moment, while they scrambled for damage control, my status as attaché was in a limbo. I was glad that at least attention was lifted off my shoulders. My last email from the deputy supervisor was "Please wait for our updates". So my life was just a series of waiting and watching and waiting.

I was also glad nobody directed any ire or ill will at me. I still blamed myself for almost killing him. Now he was able to stand up and walk.

"Well, she did better than you," Ratchet was saying, his tone mild. 

Ironhide vented hot air and tried again, his peds unsteady. He shuffled a few steps before panting. "Maybe I'm not as strong as before," he said, a strange hitch in his voice. 

"Well, considering you are an _old_ mech," Ratchet said, shaking his helm. "Let's admit it: we are both rusty, my old friend."

"Nonsense. I can still kick Sunswipe's aft."

Ratchet chuckled. "I'm sure you can. His aft deserves to be soundly kicked. What matters most is... you're not as limber as before."

"Before we left Cybertron?"

Ratchet shrugged. "Probably."

"Nevertheless," I interrupted the conversation. "I still love you."

"The joys of bonding," Ratchet threw his servos up in exasperation. "Turns old mechs into young fools with slag for cognitive matter."

Ironhide laughed, the old familiar robust boom back in his voice. "You should try some, _old_ friend. Might add a spring in your peds."

"I have to respectfully decline the offer," Ratchet said. "Back to the exercise."


	17. Winter Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide finally gets the invite to meet Casey's parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow upload. Dealing with health issues.

It was December.

The desert rains came as expected, the wind cold and the sand covered with rivulets. Water gathered in pools and gurgled in tiny streams. The landscape soaked the rain in thirstily, waiting for spring's arrival next year. The yucca and cholla gleamed under the downpour. Mornings were still breathtaking: bleak and beautiful.

Even the Autobot base went into a state of hibernation of sorts. Training was transferred indoors, though Prowl insisted cross-country terrain training should still be carried out in the rain, damn the effects of rust. The top brass and their officers practiced shooting at the large range. With the Decepticons temporarily neutralized, everybody breathed a sigh of relief or vented air. The alert was still red, but to all, it was now clearly a moment of rest. 

Mom called to remind me about the Winter Solstice dinner. Not many families celebrated Dong Ji Yat. Mom and Dad prided themselves by upholding the tradition of celebrating the festival for years. Dad would insist making the tong yun by hand, a skill taught by my grandmother. I loved the tong yun. They were chewy glutinous rice balls. In my family, Mom would make the savory broth with garlic, ginger, mushrooms, dry shrimps and cabbage, with dried scallops for flavor. We ate this together with tong yun like a hot soup. Throughout the years, they had also experimented with hotpots where we would boil fresh fish slices and assorted fish cake bought from the nearby Asian market in broth. But the tong yun was still our to-go comfort food.

"Bring a friend," Dad said after taking the phone over from Mom. He was chuckling. 

I spoke to Ironhide about the dinner. Back on his feet after the long recovery, Ironhide launched himself into patrols. I wondered if he was doing so to reassure himself he was still strong. 

"I did say I would like to meet your parents," Ironhide said thoughtfully. 

I laughed nervously. "I don't think they know you are... Cybertronian."

Ironhide's blue optics clicked. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No, no, not a bad thing," I shook my head. "I'm sure they watch the news. Just that they've probably never seen one up close... let alone..."

"Breathe, Casey," Ironhide said. "I do have my avatar, if it helps."

"You can't sustain it for that long..."

Ironhide's massive shoulder plates rose and fell. "We will see about that."


	18. Meet The Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide finally meet Casey's parents. Would they freak out?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting of new chapters would only resume after I return from a science fiction convention. :D

After getting a lift from Skyfire, we arrived early. Rolling down the quiet street where Mom and Dad lived, Ironhide's tires were loud on the road. It sounded as if plastics were being popped. I hunched a bit lower. Curt was driving. At least, the street looked reasonably tranquil with a couple of kids playing in their front yard. Mom and Dad stayed in a predominantly Asian suburb and everyone practically knew one another. The Lees lived just across us. We exchanged food and gifts during Christmas and Chinese New Year. Some of the houses had Christmas decorations. A large fir wreath with bright red berries hung on the door of the Lims. Dad had a semi-rivalry thing going on with old Mr Lim. So I wasn't surprised to see a larger wreath with bigger berries on our door. 

The sight of the house - my house - stirred up emotions inside me. I was simultaneously glad and sad to see the familiar brown roof and white walls. I spent my childhood and high school years helping Mom out at her vegetable patch. This late in the season, one of her prized squash plants was still flourishing with large glossy leaves and one or two late squashes, a sunny yellow in the midst of green. The walls needed painting. But otherwise, it looked the same. 

I insisted Ironhide get something for my parents. It was a bag of seasonal fruits, a mixture of late persimmons and pomegranates. 

"Curt" carried the bag gingerly as we walked up the front porch. I could smell the broth. There was the hint of shallots and dried shrimp in the air. My mouth automatically watered. 

"Here goes," I whispered. 

Three short knocks brought Dad to the door straightaway. He must have been waiting for us in the den. His eyes brightened when he saw Curt. 

"Hello, who's this?" Dad said warmly and extended his right hand. "You are...?"

"Curt," Ironhide said, shaking the hand without missing a beat. "A gift for you, sir." He held the bag of fruits out. Dad received it with both hands, smiling.

"Come in, come in," Dad ushered us in. This was it. I glanced at Ironhide who looked nonchalant. Calm, even. Mom came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands with a clean pink towel. She blinked before smiling shyly at Curt. To stall any further questioning, I hugged Mom and Dad. Mom examined me critically. 

"Look at you. You lost weight!" she tsk-tsked. 

"I'm fine, Mom!" I said. 

"Come, come, let's eat," Dad said. "I set everything up in our backyard. Today, you'll have a delicious meal."

"He insisted having a hotpot," Mom rolled her eyes. "Spent the entire afternoon looking for the wires and plugs."

We were led through a narrow corridor, the walls covered with photographs of my childhood, my parents in their younger days, Chinese New Year Polaroids, and my grandparents. The shelves were lined with trophies and medals. Dad was an avid chess-player. The medals were from my junior high days. Dad polished them once a week. 

Dad set the table right in the middle of the backyard, large enough to accommodate four people. The electric hot pot was already simmering. I carefully stepped over the wires. The table was laden with plates of fresh food. Sliced fish, fresh bak choy, sweet meats, and plates of tong yun. Bowls, spoons and chopsticks jostled for space. Dad had taken out his favorite orange plastic stools from the shed. 

"Sit, sit," Dad gestured excitedly. I sat beside Ironhide. His avatar was still holding. I was half-terrified it might just disappear.

"So, you know each other from work?" Dad continued, pouring hot jasmine tea into paper cups. 

"Kind of," I sipped the tea to mask my anxiety. Ironhide held the cup, his expression perplexed. Of course, he couldn't exactly _drink_ it. By now, Mom was popping the tong yun into the gently-boiling broth. The air was getting colder. I was glad I brought along a jumper. San Francisco had various moods, even during early winter. 

"You are in for a treat!" Dad said to Ironhide. "Homemade traditional Cantonese food!"

Ironhide's smile looked plastered on. He seriously didn't know how to react. 

"Let's eat," Mom said. "You know Dad will bore everyone with talk about food."

I spooned some of the cooked tong yun into a bowl, smothering them with the delicious broth. Dad and Mom were already tucking in noisily. Only Curt didn't touch his food at all. 

"Are you not eating, Curt? Too hot for you?" Dad asked, a slight frown on his face. 

"I... can't eat," Ironhide said. 

"You have health issues?" Mom looked concerned. "Aiyah, Casey, why didn't you tell us earlier?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Suddenly I heard tire sounds rolling up the driveway and Ironhide's truck - his real form - appeared. 

Dad's eyes were huge like the dinner dishes from his personal cupboard. "I didn't know cars could drive by themselves. Do you have self-drive cars at work, Casey?"

I had to speak the truth. Besides Dad was always the one who told me to speak the truth courageously, even if it was going to hurt like hell. 

"Dad," I said. "Curt isn't always like this."

"What do you mean?" Dad gasped. 

The avatar of Curt blinked out before our very eyes. Mom jumped. It was a miracle the table didn't topple over. The trunk morphed, breaking apart, shifting with metallic sounds. Ironhide's full form towered above everyone, even taller than the oak tree in the backyard. _Gosh. Will the neighbors see him?_

"AIYAH!" Dad said and sat down. Mom stared at Ironhide. 

"You are seeing one of them?" Mom managed to find her voice. It was tiny with fear. 

"Yes, Mom," I said, the truth finally out. But I didn't feel relieved or anything close to that. 

"We saw them on TV. They are so big!" Dad was suddenly chuckling once more, his old humor coming back. "Now I am seeing one right in front of me!"

"Dad?" I asked nervously. 

"Sir, I will take care of your daughter," Ironhide said, his voice rumbling. "This I promise."

"Will you?" Dad said, his mien serious. "Will you promise me that?"

"Dad..." 

"Dear..." Mom's voice quavered. 

"I promise, sir," Ironhide knelt, his helm lowered. 

"Mom and Dad, you're actually _okay_ with him?" I said.

"We have already seen a lot of strange things in our lives," Dad laughed. "Besides he's also an immigrant. We have something in common."

"Just don't hurt my daughter," Mom warned Ironhide, her eyes glaring at him fiercely. 

"In this case, let's continue to eat," Dad said. "Um, you don't mind watching us eat ..."

"Ironhide."

"Ironhide," Dad nodded, spooning more hot broth into my bowl. "I'm sure you have your own name like us. Perhaps, you could tell me more in the near future?"

Ironhide's chuckle warmed my heart. For the rest of the evening, he sat on his aft, watching us eat. We talked about food, about work and about the stars in the sky. Dad made us more tea (for better digestion, so he said). The neighbors didn't even bother to peer over to see what was going on. They were used to Mom and Dad's parties. 

While Mom cleaned the dishes and Ironhide was out on the backyard staring at the skies, Dad joined me on the front porch. It felt so normal: a quiet talk after dinner, surrounded by the sounds of the neighborhood. Dad and I used to do that when I was a kid. 

"So, you actually met him at work," Dad said without preamble, sitting down beside me with a cup of hot tea in his hands. 

"I did," I couldn't lie to my dad. "We are colleagues of sorts."

"Well, you did say you were attached to them as a kind of diplomat. Is it less dangerous than - you know - _last time_? It wasn't easy for you, I remember."

"It has its ups and downs," I said. "For them, it's a constant war."

"Probably why they left their planet," Dad mused. "He's like us in so many ways."

"He is," I nodded. 

"In the end, all of us are looking for a home," Dad sipped his tea. "I know most of what you deal with are top-secret... But please take care of yourself, Casey. We're not getting any younger."

"I know, Dad. And I will. Thank you, Dad."

We embraced briefly.

That night, I slept in my own room. Mom still cleaned it daily, airing the room and changing the sheets. I felt too old for my bed, the mattress too soft, the covers too floral for me. Ironhide remained outside, recharging in his trunk form. My stomach was full of tong yun and delicious broth. My soul was nourished and content for now.


	19. Christmas... And Something Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey and Ironhide spend Christmas at her parents'. Everything is happy until the end.

Ironhide and I spent Christmas at my parents'. Dad introduced him to Christmas roast chicken, our version of the Christmas turkey. Dad found turkey meat too dry and bland for his liking. So he decided to make his own roast with chicken. It took about ten years for him to perfect his method, especially when it came to making the marinate. Of course, Ironhide couldn't eat human food. He brought along energon strips and ate them while we reduced the chicken to bones. 

Mom packed the rest of the leftover chicken in tupperware, so that she could make soup. _Waste not_ , she often told me. Her fridge was layered with plastic containers, all neatly stacked and labeled with dates. Dad often complained he couldn't fit the groceries in, because "there isn't any space left!". They often tussled over kitchen space, since Dad liked to cook too and Mom was territorial when it came to her stove and kitchen counter.  
We exchanged presents. Mom and Dad gave me a scarf ("for the cold desert"). I gave them a collection of seeds that Mom and Dad could plant their squash to their heart's content. Ironhide had a new box of energon strips I managed to procure, with the help of Jazz. I was startled when Ironhide placed a ring on my hand. It looked ridiculously tiny in his digits, like a spare part from some scrap heap. Yet it wasn't scrap. It shone with an inner light. On my palm, it looked like intricate silver filigree. 

He blinked, his optics clicking. "For you," he rumbled. His tone was unbearably tender. 

"Oh."

Dad began to laugh. "Did you just propose to her?" 

"DAD!" I gasped. 

"Your mother would want grandchildren," Dad was wiping laughter tears with a tissue. "But I am not sure how the biology would work!"

Mom came out from the kitchen where she was preparing dessert to glare pointedly at Dad. "I didn't say I wanted grandchildren."

"But you just did. Last night..." 

While they bantered to and fro, I stared up at Ironhide. 

"Did you...?" I whispered.

Ironhide carefully rested his right digits against my hand. Palm on palm. "As the stars spin and the binary systems dance in patterns, our Sparks burn as one."

"Ironhide!" I found myself crying. Tears were rolling down my cheeks. 

"Of course, Optimus doesn't need to know just yet," he said with a chuckle in his voice. 

*

We stayed one more night as there was a freak hail storm which peppered the vegetable garden and caused Dad to swear loudly early in the morning. Fortunately, only some leaves were frayed and the rest of the batch looked relatively untouched by the hail stones. Some of the stones were the size of golf balls. The worst hit were the wind screens of cars parked alongside the streets. Sheltered at the back of our house, Ironhide was also unscathed. 

I hugged Mom and Dad tight before leaving. I would see them again - hopefully - for the Chinese New Year weekend. 

We met Skyfire at our rendezvous point. A disused landing strip out of nowhere, it gave us a chance to avoid prying eyes. The jet landed quickly, the thrusters hissing. I sensed urgency in his movements. 

"What's wrong?" Ironhide was back to Autobot officer mode: stern, curt and clipped. 

Skyfire's hesitation could be felt through the shaking. He was making a quick ascent and the G-force pressed me into my seat. Belted, I could only smile with some difficulty. 

"It's Optimus," Skyfire said, his voice omnipresent. "He's gone missing."


	20. Where Did He Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus has gone missing. Where did he go? It's not "magic", isn't it?

"Why didn't you inform me?" Ironhide growled at Prowl who stood his ground, his servos folded in front of his chestplate. 

The moment we landed at the base, Ironhide sought Prowl out immediately. I felt his rage emanate from his entire being, his fury at being not kept in the loop by a trusted friend and senior officer. It infuriated him and I could do nothing to mollify him or even calm him down. 

"I thought we could handle the matter on our own," Prowl said matter-of-factly. I saw Jazz discreetly place his right digits on his face plate. The rest of the Autobots presents were silent, watching the two senior brass in a semi-circle. The mood was sober, spiked with frustration and Ironhide's anger. 

"I am his friend too," Ironhide barked and this time, Prowl visibly backed away. Ironhide's fury - barely contained and a physical force. Ratchet moved up to restrain him, only to be pushed aside by Ironhide. 

"And you, my _friend_ ," Ironhide glared at Ratchet who looked oddly calm. "You didn't..."

Ratchet raised his digits as if to appease and to halt Ironhide's imminent explosion. "Clear your brain module, for Primus's sake. And _think_."

Ironhide let out a long vent of hot air. The tension in the hangar fizzled out, much to the relief of everyone. Elitia, Optimus Prime's known mate, appeared stoic. I had often seen them together ever since she returned from her mission protecting Sam and Mikaela. Their relationship was as tender as ours. Elitia was a warrior, one of their very best. Focused, true to self, she was often in the thick of things. Her partner had gone missing. Yet, she showed enormous self-control and will power to wait for orders. This needed calm and focus. We all loved Optimus. We needed to plan our actions carefully.

"When did he disappear?" Ironhide said, his voice soft. "When did this happen?"

"Routine patrol," Jazz spoke up, earning a Look from Prowl. "We were scouting the borders. He radioed us that he saw something. Then we just lost radio contact with him."

"Decepticons?" 

"We found no traces," Jazz shook his head slowly. "Nothing, Ironhide. Zilch. Whatever it is or was, Optimus just _disappeared_."

"Now you're telling me tales that would scare younglings," Ironhide muttered. "How could a mech like him just disappear? Unless you want to bring 'magic'." I cringed. A few weeks ago, I had explained magic shows to him after we watched an old David Copperfield rerun on TV. The magician simply walked into a white wall and disappeared, only to emerge on the other side, smiling to the thunderous applause from the live audience. 

Ratchet huffed. "Magic doesn't exist. It is science."

Ironhide growled. "Teleportation? He walked into an inter-dimensional rift?"

"No traces of those either," Jazz said before Prowl could interject. 

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker entered the hangar in their car modes. They morphed quickly, indicating their urgency. 

"No sign of him," Sunstreaker said. "Everything's just barren land."

"I do not think," Ratchet said mildly, "that Megatron or Starscream is behind this. It's not the Decepticons."

"Is this a theory or a fact?" Ironhide snapped. "How do you know?"

"Just a hunch," Ratchet replied. 

"Hunches aren't exactly scientific," Wheeljack said very quietly from his corner. 

"I know."

"We still need to look for him," Ironhide growled. 

I had to walk away from the heated argument which arose after his statement. Now edging towards early evening, the air was turning cold. The distant mountains looked forlorn. I sighed. It would be a long night.


	21. Return of Prime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has returned. But what's that sword in his hand and where did he go?

I had curled up on Ironhide's recharge bed, only to find out that he had left early in the morning to look for Optimus. The bed felt cold without him. The night before, we made frantic love, metal on skin, holographic skin on skin. I fell asleep cradled in his servos, deliciously exhausted. I would do anything to keep the feeling of bleak hopelessness away. 

Optimus Prime. Gone. Disappeared. Into thin air. 

Some of the Autobots blamed Prowl for negligence. Ironhide most certainly did. They questioned his leadership. Jazz had to intervene a couple of times. I hated this sudden spike of disunity and mistrust at the base. All the finger-pointing and assumptions. 

_Sometimes, they are just as bad as humans_. 

I showered quickly and cleared my emails. Slipping back to emotionless bureaucrat and civil servant seemed the best way to deal with everything at the moment. Someone had left a Kum Loong take-away box on my work table. The noodles were still warm. I gobbled them down for breakfast, grateful for the gift. While I ate, I stared at Ironhide's Christmas gift on my finger. The silver glinted with its own light. It looked delicate. Fragile.   
Distant thunder throbbed. There was a subtle pressure shift. The congestion in my nasal cavity confirmed it: it was going to rain. No, it was going to pour. And sure it did, the dark roiling clouds seeming to burst with sheets of rain beating down the desert. Emails done, dealing with questions from the agency done, I got up from my chair to watch the light show. Flickers of lightning illuminated the sky. I was oddly surprised the loud thunder didn't trigger any flashbacks. 

A particularly loud clap of lightning cut the air. I could feel its electric charge even from I was standing. It was so bright it left after-images. The booming thunder followed. Mom told me that in Chinese mythology, Thunder and Lightning were a married couple. I thought it was cute: a husband-and-wife team. I was only ten and enamored with all things fables and fairy tales. 

Then the fear returned, my throat constricting, my vision blurring - and my heart pounding so hard as if it would explode anymore. I had to sit down. 

_Evacuate the patients! They are coming in!_

I counted from twenty to one, listening to my heartbeat and my breathing. Slowly, painfully, the tightness faded away, like a tiger forced back into its cage, still growling faintly. My heart stopped its pounding. The drumming in my head went from booming to a soft thud-thud-thud. I breathed a shaky sigh of relief. 

I wiped the tears from my eyes. _Where's everyone? Am I alone?_

Out in the horizon, I thought I saw a figure rise and walk towards the base. A man walking in the desert during a storm? The figure walked with a purpose, step after step. As it neared the base, I could see that it was not a man. The light from the skies danced on broad shoulders of rain-slicked metal. I recognized that faceplate. It glowed with a fierce blue fire. In his huge metal fist he held a sword. 

Shock turned to joy. My voice found strength to shout. 

"OPTIMUS. Guys, he's back. HE'S BACK!"


	22. A War Is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus returns with news. Everyone is not sure if they like the new Optimus.

Ironhide circled Optimus like a hunting wolf, eyeing his friend with an expression I couldn't decipher. The rest of the Autobot brass towered around me, their arms folded, holding their comments back. Our delight and relief at his returned had transmuted to something close to surprise and cautious wariness. 

This _new_ Optimus - _No, why was I thinking that he was_ made _new?_ \- stood erect and proud with confidence. Optimus was stern, but he allowed humor, not afraid to laugh with his officers and spend time with them. He was calm, a foil to Ironhide's trigger-happy nature; he was warm, compared to Ratchet's acerbic attitude and Prowl's by-the-book peevishness. He struck me as an individual who reflected often on his leadership, open to criticism from his mechs and not hesitant to modify his style. He was the ideal officer who commanded respect from his soldiers. 

Yet, the Optimus who stood before us, his hand holding a large sword reminiscent of the longswords I had seen before at the museum, was not the Optimus Prime I thought I knew. Even Elitia eyed him with an odd look on her face plate and she was the one closest to him. She knew him, so to speak. 

What _happened_? What really changed him?

"So, you are telling me that there is a war coming over our way," Ironhide said heavily, throwing the first salvo. "And it doesn't involve the Decepticons."

"Yes," Optimus's voice had an unusual resonance too: a deep rumbling in his chestplate, as if his Spark burned louder, brighter. The longsword glimmered with that blue fire, banked now, but still potent. "When I woke, I was confronted by a fierce light. I dared not approach it for it burned with a strange force. _A war is coming_ , it says, Beware, beware."

"It's a Decepticon trick," Prowl spoke finally, shaking his helm. 

"It's not a Decepticon trick, Prowl," Optimus's reply was the old Optimus, gently humorous but firm. "It reminds me... it reminds me of the Primes, the ones who had gone before me."

"Like Sam when he saw the Primes?" It was Ironhide's turn to shake his helm. "Do you need to have your cognition checked, Optimus?" I could hear the worry in his voice, the concern of a close friend. 

"Ironhide, the light fills me with joy, with power. The Creators are telling me that a war is coming."

The mention of 'Creators' triggered muttering amongst the gathered officers. Even Skyfire, in his vehicle form, shifted uncomfortably, causing a few minor tremors as he did so. From what I had gathered from talking to Ironhide and listening in when the Autobots talked, the Creators were the ones who made Cybertron. Talking about the Creators was similar to us talking about God or the Divine. I wasn't surprised that some of the Autobots were uneasy. They didn't have an overt religion, spirituality or faith. Most of them showed reverence to Primus, but not worship. Now Optimus was saying that he actually met their Creators... 

"You saw the Creators then," Ironhide said incredulously. 

"I didn't see them. But I heard them. They gave me this sword to use when the time comes."

"What is the war about?" Prowl interjected. 

Optimus's blue optics glanced at me briefly before he looked at the Autobot officers, most of them his friends and Ironhide his closest and best companion. 

"A war between humans and us."

These words filled my heart with ice.


	23. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironhide is frustrated with Optimus. So is everyone. What would the New Year bring?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not posting as regularly as I should. Busy with my pro writing (novella edits and all) and might end up disappearing again with a new book to write on deadline.

Ironhide lost it the moment we retreated back to his recharge chamber. I suspected he had been holding it in, keeping his thoughts in check. The conversation with Optimus was fruitless, to say the least. Questions, not answers, seemed to grow the more Optimus spoke about the war between Cybertronians and humans. _War between Cybertronians and humans_. The very thought chilled me. What would trigger this war? Would Cybertronians be the ones who instigated the war? Or it was the fault of humans.... again?

Ironhide... Ironhide just vented his frustration by hitting the recharge bed with his fist. Bang, bang, bang. I swore he dented the bed. 

"War between Cybertronians and humans? Bah!" Bang.

"Total bullshit!" Bang.

"Has he lost his cognition?" Bang. 

The recharge chamber rang like a church bell being struck. I gritted my teeth and waited for the storm to pass. 

Then Ironhide vented a loud gush of air and lowered his helm tiredly, looking like a man who had lost all his energy and confidence. I went over to him, placing my palm on his over-heated chrome. 

"Do you think it's real, this war between Cybertronians and humans?" he asked plaintively. His optics beseeched me to answer truthfully. My heart clenched. 

"I don't know, I honestly don't know," I said. 

Ironhide went silent, staring at his fists. 

"I'll protect you," he said finally. "If and when this stupid war starts, I'll protect you."

"Oh, Ironhide," I shook my head. I knew that as a human, I would be expected to take the side of humankind. Like in any war, nobody would be expected to stay neutral. If you didn't take a side, you would be deemed a traitor by both factions. With my link with the Autobots, humans would assume I would end up taking the side of Cybertronians. 

And Ironhide...

We didn't pursue the matter any further. Instead, we ended up having leftovers from Kum Loong (for me), a few strips of energon (for Ironhide). We proceeded to make love, frantically, urgently, until I fell limp and slick with sweat on Ironhide's heaving chest-plates. I eased into sleep with Ironhide's palm gently stroking my back. My dreams that night were of war and the screaming of mortars. 

*

It was a subdued New Year celebration. I popped open a bottle of champagne, toasted the New Year, and spent some time with Ironhide and Ratchet. Called my parents too to wish a Happy New Year. 

Would we celebrate Chinese New Year?

Optimus kept to himself, practicing with the sword. He still had his usual daily meetings with his brass. Yet, something _had_ changed. Everyone dared not broach the topic as if it was an open wound. Once lively discussions, the brass meetings were now quiet affairs, with basically Prowl taking notes and none of the key personnel speaking at all. I sat in for a few sessions and found the mood dead. Even Ironhide, one of the most vocal ones, sat without talking. Nobody seemed to want to look directly into Optimus's optics. 

I didn't like this new Optimus at all.


	24. It Has Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hague gets blown up. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: death, violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be the tipping point of the story, I think. Shit's going to get real and people would end up having to take sides. Again, I might be a tad slow in posting chapters as book has to be written and a story to be submitted.

As usual, I had my weekly Skype session with Mikaela. We laughed over our menfolk, sipped our coffee while we discussed Hague gossip. Sam had _finally_ proposed to her, using a ring they found shopping at one of the Christmas flea markets. Mikaela was suddenly talking about wedding dresses, her face lit up with joy. I felt wistful and awkward, happy for her, but somehow insanely jealous of her. 

"Have Ironhide proposed to you yet? I do know for once Cybertronians have wedding customs..." Mikaela was saying. 

"No, not yet," I said hastily, almost knocking over my mug. "We have been busy." That was a half-truth. "Who talked to you about Cybertronian wedding customs?"

Mikaela's giggle was infectious. I had to smile. "Elitia! Optimus proposed to her before."

Optimus. The sound of his name immediately soured my mood. 

"You know, Mikaela, have you heard anything regarding a war between Cybertronians and humans? Any rumors going around in the Hague?" I said. Mikaela looked at me as if I had grown an extra head. 

"No! What _happened_?" Mikaela's tone was serious. She had matured so much. Still breathtakingly beautiful, but there was now steel in her eyes. The Hague was her baptism of fire. 

"Optimus just went missing one day after Christmas and came back with this strange sword. He claimed a voice told him that there was going to be a war between Cybertronians and humans," I shook my head. "It was.... It was bizarre, Mickey. Totally bizarre. He's changed, I swear. Not the Optimus I know. _Even_ Ironhide is like totally not talking to him as he used to. I... I don't know what's really happening."

Mikaela scrunched her face up in an expression of amazement, surprise and worry. "That's something new. The Autobots are quiet here. They heard nothing. Everything seems okay."

"Is there something that they are not telling you guys?"

Mikaela opened her mouth to answer. The screen sizzled out, the connection gone. Must be a glitch. I tried calling her again, but she didn't respond. Oh well, she might end up emailing me instead. 

*

The news about the Hague bombing came to us two hours later. The entire base woke up. It was horrific: the UN headquarters was bombed, many casualties, and far more deaths than they could count. As for Sam and Mikaela, they weren't accounted for. We demanded for updates. The Autobots who were attached to the Hague delegation were strangely silent. 

"As if their signals simply cut off," Ratchet said, a hint of concern in his voice. 

"Did they... die?" I asked, my eyes glued to the news report. Firefighters trying to fight the fire, first responders climbing up and down rubble, sniffer dogs with their handlers, faces smeared with dust and streaked with dried blood. Eyes wide open in terror. 

Ratchet refused to answer. We all knew the answer. My heart filled with dread and immense pain. Sam and Mikaela might be dead. _Dead_. The word reverberated in my mind and pooled cold and heavy in my chest.  
"Who did this?" Ironhide snapped. 

"Some were saying Decepticons," Prowl said. The rest of the Autobots crowded in front of the large screen. "Some said human terrorists."

I stared at the number of deaths scrolling across the screen, while smoke filled the background and people were still running around. Men and women were being stretchered. My heart began to beat painfully. I had to shut my eyes tight. I felt the creeping fear, the clenching of my heart once more. I couldn't breathe. 

"It has begun," a quiet voice said. Optimus Prime stood proudly, the large hangar door framing his figure. 

" _What_ has begun?" Ironhide's tone was part menace, part suspicion. I was suddenly afraid of this new development, that it was doing _something_ to my Ironhide. 

"You know what I mean, my old friend," Optimus said and left the hangar. Everyone, even Ratchet, stared at his abrupt departure. The old Optimus would stay and demand for updates while he reassured his brass and soldiers.  
Ironhide made as if to pursue his old friend. Ratchet stopped him dead by planting firm digits on his chest-plate. 

"Let him be," Ratchet cautioned. 

"Humans are dying, _friend_ ," Ironhide growled. "Sam and Mikaela are missing, presumed dead. Bumblebee might be dead as well... and you have the temerity to tell me to "let him be"."

"Let him be," Ratchet repeated, unbowed by Ironhide's implicit threat. Cool down, I thought desperately. Cool down, love. 

To my relief, Ironhide heaved a sigh and turned away.


	25. The World Starts Crumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Casey hears more bad news from Grumpy Grandpa Ratchet.

I couldn't sleep. 

Updates were slowly trickling in. Thanks to the Autobots' diplomatic links to the Hague, we had a constant link to their private news stream. The updates... were still grim, the images still daunting. They were looking for Sam and Mikaela. But their chances of survival were dwindling faster. I felt so sorry for Sam's and Mikaela's parents. The kind of panic and heartsick they were now going through. What if the same happened to me? Mom and Dad would be devastated. 

A chill ran down my spine. I hugged myself closer. The huge chair, built for Cybertronian frames, felt like a iron throne. A cold unforgiving iron throne. 

"Can't recharge?" Ratchet appeared right next to me and I jumped. 

"Oh _shit_ \- you startled me!" 

He carried a tray in his digits. The steaming tea cup looked like a child's toy. For a moment, I had to smile. He looked as if he was playing with a tea set. 

"I know you humans enjoy tea," Ratchet said and passed the tray to me. The tea was delicious and warmed my stomach. Suddenly everything felt marginally better. 

"It is an interesting custom," he continued, nursing his own beverage, some energon liquid in a receptacle looking suspiciously like a giant mug. I could smell the beverage: metallic and oddly sweet, like spun sugar soaked with petroleum. High caloric, like airplane fuel. 

We descended into silence, watching the news on the large screen. Same footage, same updates. 

"What was Optimus referring to earlier? What thing has begun?" I broached the issue. I needed to know. Ratchet paused in the action of sipping his drink. With a vent of air that sounded like a sad sigh, he placed the big mug gently on the computer counter.

"What got Ironhide so upset?" I continued. 

Ratchet didn't reply for a long time. He stared at the Hague's news stream. A woman was being pulled out of the rubble, her face covered with dust, her eyes stark and empty. She could still stand. She wavered, steadied by the rescuer. Flashlights popped ferociously like strobe-lights as the paramedics led her away from the rubble. 

"A long time," Ratchet said slowly, "a long time ago, when Cybertron was still Cybertron, there was a prophecy that the Creators would return. Like Primus. When the Creators return, there would be a war as they demand a reckoning. The Creators created us but they were also ruthless masters. I never believed in them and thought they were stories to scare Sparklings and foolish Cybertronians."

"Now Optimus believes that he's been tasked by them to be a guardian, a protector. The Creators demand... sacrifices. I am afraid Optimus has become their sacrifice."

"But there will be a war between Cybertronians and humans," I said. "This isn't just some Decepticon lie."

"The Decepticons came from the same root, my dear. They were created by the very same beings. What I am afraid of are the Decepticons taking the side of the Creators..." 

"NO!"

"I am afraid that battlelines were drawn, before we came to Earth. We are supposed to protect Earth... However, Earth is going to become a battleground once more. Vested interests. Greed. Agendas. I am sorry, Casey."

I was too numb to cry. Dry-eyed, I could only gaze at the ongoing rescue on the screen. The world felt as if it was crumbing around me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the belated update! A slew of things happened. Life intervened. Working on YA fantasy. Then my cat died and it's been three weeks.


	26. Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad luck and news continue. Casey cuts off her hair, remembers an old friend and have sex with Ironhide.
> 
> Content warnings: violence, death and graphic sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for my absence. I am very touched by the kudos and comments I have received from readers. I am not exactly a good writer when it comes to Transformers fanfiction. So reading the comments from you is a big confidence boost for me. I am now determined to complete the story (it's a decent novella!)!

I cut off my hair.

It felt like a relief and a release. Mom said that cutting off excess hair removes bad luck. Too much yin, she told me once. Besides, I would feel better.

I hacked off half of it with a pair of scissors I found in the drawer. I originally wanted a buzz cut, similar to what I had when I was in basic training. That would have to do for now. My cut hair had fallen in clumps around me like an aura of black fuzz. I swept the clumps and burned them. It felt immensely cathartic.

Sam and Mikaela were dead. I just knew it. The window for survival had closed. Updates tricked to a stop. Even the rest of the Autobots had given up on their missing friends. Lives lost. Hope lost. An ugly business.

“War is ugly,” Lennox had said to me a long time ago. Back in Baghdad when we were grunt soldiers and I was still serving as a combat nurse. We had managed to live through a hellish night where the medical compound was under attack. I was trying to save myself and my patients, men and women who had their limbs blown apart by mines or plain ambush. When dawn came, my nerves were frayed. I couldn’t breathe.

“It always is,” I replied, knowing it was lame. I was too exhausted to say anything else. One patient died in the middle of the attack, a loss I felt in my gut. He was a young man, fresh out of basic and thrown into a ruthless war he wasn’t prepared for. I held his hand while he breathed his last.

“You okay?” Lennox looked at me closely then, suddenly concerned.

“Henderson died,” I said quietly.

“Oh shit,” Lennox blinked. “I’m sorry.”

“We tried, Lennox, we tried. Stabilized him. Pneumothorax is a bitch, “ I said.

Lennox shook his head slowly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Case. We all know the field hospital isn’t well-equipped…” He shut up, letting the silence lapse between us. He was trying to comfort me. The hospital was designed for trauma.

“Yeah, war is ugly,” I said, hearing the bitterness in my voice. “And I hate it.”

*

“Whoa, Casey!”

Jazz’s exclamation broke my reverie. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. The acrid dust was in my nose. The smells of the field hospital - antiseptic, blood and pain - filled my nostrils. I had to blink and shake my head to clear the cobwebs. I was outside my prefab apartment. I just cut my hair. It was inching towards early evening. The clouds had turned a deeper grey. A wind seemed to have picked up. Somewhere, corrugated iron rattled.

“New ‘do!” Jazz was saying. “ _Noice_.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Gotta remove bad luck.”

Jazz’s optics shifted. “We have plenty of that ‘round of late.”

“Any updates?” I had to ask even though I already knew the answer.

“Nothing,” Jazz said sadly. “The Hague’s gone silent.”

We walked towards the hangar. The wind had gotten cold. It seemed to seep into my bones. I shivered. Where did the wind come from? It felt sudden. I stared out into the desert, my senses alert. The clouds were beginning to boil.

“Another storm,” Jazz noted.

“Yeah,” I murmured, feeling the pinpricks of premonition. The same I felt before the field hospital was attacked.

We found Ironhide manning the consoles with the screen still showing rescue workers. There were public mourners now, carrying candles. Some were laying bouquets of flowers next to the rubble. Not surprising protestors had shown up with placards. My stomach clenched at the words and slogans.

“They are protecting our planet, you idiots,” I said angrily.

*

With a loud groan, Ironhide thrust deep inside me. I wrapped my legs around his hips, rocking with the orgasm. He crushed my lips with a hard bruising kiss, throttling my cry. I let him. This release was much needed.

The hologram fizzed out. I fell back into my bed. The sheets were moist. My body was flushed. I wanted him to cuddle and rock me to sleep.

“Casey,” Ironhide’s voice rumbled outside the window. It sounded as if he was panting. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whispered.

“I think… I think you need to come out,” Ironhide said. “There’s something you have to see.”

There was a hitch in his voice. Fear?

I tossed a t-shirt on and ran out down the stairs. Ironhide stood tall, his helm lifted skywards. My gaze was drawn to the skies. The clouds swirled in a dark continuous spiral. Light flickered in the whirlpool.

“Maelstrom,” I heard Ironhide mutter.

 


End file.
